The Golden Gavel
by DSL-69
Summary: The Golden Gavel is a tavern, hidden deep in the basement of the District Prosecutors' Office. Within lies the characters and backstory of the first Phoenix Wright game, as seen through the eyes of its workaday bartender.
1. Ep I Part 1: Payne and Suffering

**Note: **Phoenix Wright / Gyakuten Saiban, its settings, plot points, and characters, are all the property of Capcom, and are being used here without permission. This first chapter takes place after the murder of GS1 Case 1; Spoilers for that case and a small bit of GS3 Case 1.

** The Golden Gavel**

**Episode I: The First Round**

_Part 1/3: Payne and Suffering_

**August 1****st****, 2016, 4:50 PM**

As he ran a hand through his lengthy red hair, Jack Keeper let out a heavy sigh and gazed at his completely empty bar. The Golden Gavel's lack of customers was hardly surprising; it was not yet five-o-clock and many of his regular customers were still hard at work. This little problem was compounded by the chronic lack of publicity the Gavel received; after all, the taxpayers would be furious if they realized some of their money was being used to fund a tavern hidden in the basement of the district Prosecutor's office!

In the last two hours alone, Jack had managed to keep himself busy by washing all the mugs and glasses, wiping down the counter and the tops of the barstools, and polishing the Gavel's seldom used tables until they had that hallowed mirror-like gleam. He'd even messed around with the old pinball machine a while, though he didn't even come close to beating the high score.

In short, Jack was both lonely and bored. There are certain things, however, that a lonely man can do to relieve his boredom while he's sure no one else is watching...

"First, I put a black five on the red six, and then I put a black four on a red five..." he muttered to himself. "And then I can flip this card up and find a red king, which I can put in the empty place the red four used to be in."

Jack continued to mutter to himself as he flipped cards from a pile before him, hoping to get lucky enough to actually win an old-fashioned game of solitaire before his deck ran out.

"And then I can put this red two on that black three and... damn, I'm all out of cards!" he exclaimed bitterly. "Lousy game just made me waste..." he looked at the clock in the corner of the TV, which was set to the news channel. "Eight minutes! I ought to just..."

However, Jack never verbalized just what he should do, as a loud fanfare blared from the television and the words "Breaking News" shot across the screen.

"Hmmm, I wonder what happened this time," Jack proclaimed to the empty room. He leaned against the bar as the screen changed to a view of a well-dressed woman behind a desk.

_"_Good evening viewers, I'm Lily Jumper. I interrupt this broadcast of 'Money Money Business Hour' to bring you word of a violent murder occurring at the Happy Heights Apartment Complex in the Downtown section of the city," she explained, her throaty voice dripping with false sentiment. "The victim is apparently a young woman who was living alone in one of the many budget apartments that make the Happy Heights complex so well-known to city residents. This sad event ends a three day period in which no new murders had been committed in the City. Unfortunately, it appears that such good times were not meant to last. As of yet, DNN has not been supplied with either the victim's name or any possible suspects in the case. We will release more information as it becomes available." The newswoman paused and gave a dramatic breath. "I repeat: One woman has been found murdered in her apartment located in the downtown section of the city. We now return you to 'Money Money Business Hour' already in progress."

"Humph," sneered Jack, glaring at the TV screen. "She didn't really give any specific information."

Jack returned to shuffling his cards and was about to deal out a new game when a chime rang through the room, indicating that the bar's main door had been opened. He looked up to see a short, balding man nervously glancing about the room, his eyes partially hidden behind a pair of thick glasses. Upon seeing Jack he nodded and crossed the room, taking a seat in one of the several stools on the outside of the bar counter.

"Good evening, Jack," he said in a thin, squeaky voice.

"Good evening, Mr. Payne," replied Jack, his voice brightening slightly. "How're things going for you?" While Winston Payne was neither a very respected nor a very talented prosecuting attorney, he was one of Jack's regular customers, and a good bartender tries his best to be friendly to his regulars.

"I lost another trial today," said Payne. "I almost had this one wrapped up too, but my key witness slipped up on one little detail during his testimony and the whole case fell apart after that. I tried to justify the contradiction, but the defense built up a head of steam and the judge just made his decision right then and there."

"Tough luck, Mr. Payne." Jack always called Winston by his last name; he figured it would help the man's poor ego a bit. "Do you want your usual, then?"

"Yes please."

"Can do." Jack said, smiling. He hummed to himself as he walked over to his big shelf of cocktail ingredients. "A bit of grenadine, a bottle of maraschino cherries..." He sat the bottles on the counter and opened the door of a large refrigerator embedded in the wall. "A bottle of lemon-lime soda..." He twisted the cap of the soda bottle, chuckling at the fizzy sound it made. He grabbed a cocktail glass and mixed the soda and grenadine together, absentmindedly watching as the pale yellow-green and deep red liquids swirled together. He mixed them with a swizzle stick and dropped a pair of cherries into the concoction while the liquids were still swirling about. Jack lifted the glass to eye level, checking for impurities, and when he found none he smiled and sat it down in front of Payne with a flourish.

"Here you are, Mr. Payne. One Shirley Temple served cold, with an extra cherry instead of a slice of orange, and mixed the old-fashioned way without a shaker. Is it to your satisfaction?" he asked, leaning back slightly.

Payne took a tentative sip before downing nearly half the glass in one gulp. "Yes it is. Thank you."

"You're welcome," said Jack. He turned and put back the cherries and grenadine while leaving the lemon-line soda on the counter. He poured himself a mug of it and grabbed his chair from the end of the bar area. With a bit of effort, he sat it across from Payne and took a seat.

"I just heard on the TV that the city's got another murder case on its hands." said Jack.

"Doesn't surprise me," said Payne. He took another sip, his eyebrows crinkling slightly from the sweet flavor of his drink. "Of course, it doesn't really matter much to me anyway. The chief prosecutor hasn't let me do a murder trial in nearly a month."

"Really?" Jack arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Well, Lana's always been good at giving people lots of chances. Maybe tomorrow will be your lucky day." Jack smiled to show he was serious.

"If it is, it'll be the first I've had in a long time..." Payne trailed off and sipped his Shirley Temple once more. "I haven't really had a lot of good luck since... you know."

"Yeah, I remember." Indeed, Payne had once told Jack the story of how he took on rookie defense attorney Mia Fey and lost... horribly. It made sense to Jack; he'd heard other attorneys talk about Payne's days as the 'Rookie Killer', well before Jack had become a bartender. The only part of Payne's story Jack didn't understand was the part about Payne "losing his hair" at the end of the case. Jack had read about stress related hair-loss before, but going nearly bald in a matter of seconds seemed to be taking that concept a wee bit too far in his opinion.

Payne raised a hand and patted what was left of his dull gray locks thoughtfully. "I just wish there was something I could do about this. What I've got left is just... there. I can't really impress anyone with it."

Jack gave a nod. "I'll admit it's not much to work with..." He leaned back and thought about Payne's predicament for a moment. "Maybe you should just shave it all off. It'll make people think you have a full head of hair and that you just shave it to look... uh, hip."

"I don't think so. I mean, that'll probably just make me look like an old man. I'm not ready to be old yet."

At fifty-two years of age, Payne already _was_ an old man in Jack's eyes, but Jack knew better than to say that out loud. "Well, I'm sure that there're other things you can do. You could get a wig, for example."

"No, no wig. Everybody would know its fake, and if I get another run of bad luck it might fall off by accident. Heck, I'd probably throw it at someone if they made me mad enough." He laughed squeakily before gazing at his empty cocktail glass. "Could you get me another drink, please?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Payne. You want another Shirley?"

"Nah, get a mug of... diet cola. I need something a little less sweet."

Jack smiled and nodded before heading to the fridge to grab a bottle of said diet cola. "You know, if you don't want a wig, I'm sure there's some other stuff you could do to look nicer." He grabbed a beer mug out from under the bar and poured the soda in. "Maybe you can try brushing it forward instead of back. Your hair wouldn't be as nice-looking as it used to be, but at least you could get _some _coverage up top."

"Maybe..." muttered Payne as Jack sat the mug of soda before him. "I might try that one of these days."

Jack thought some more before sitting upright in a burst of realization. "Or... maybe you can grow it out; have it hang down to your shoulders or something. It'd make you look like one of those big-shot rock stars!"

Payne merely let out another squeaky laugh. "Mr. Keeper, it'll be a cold day in hell before I let myself wear my hair like _that._" he smiled and took another swig of soda.

"If you say so, Mr. Payne."

The two men lapsed into silence for a moment before another loud fanfare sounded from the TV at the other end of the bar.

"More breaking news? This better be good..." muttered Jack.

"DNN has just received more information regarding the horrible murder in the Downtown section of the city," announced the newswoman, her skin shining eerily beneath a layer of thick makeup. "The victim has been identified as Cindy Stone, aged 22. Ms. Stone, a model, had just arrived at her apartment after participating in a photo shoot abroad. As of this moment, the motive behind this ghastly event is anyone's guess. Police reports have been slower than normal due to a power outage in the downtown section of the city."

"Power outage? Those don't happen often in this day and age," said Jack.

A dark-haired man suddenly walked onto the TV newsroom and handed the newswoman a piece of paper. The woman shot him a glare and he scurried away, embarrassed. The newswoman glared at the paper and her face suddenly broke into a creepy grin.

"We here at DNN have just received more breaking news in the Cindy Stone murder case... it appears that District Police have arrested a suspect and charged him with the murder! The murderer is identified as Larry Butz, age 24." A picture of a nervous looking orange-haired man with big eyes appeared in the corner of the TV screen. "Mr. Butz was the only person seen at the crime scene and thus appears to almost definitely be the culprit! We here at DNN offer the legal system our support in seeing this horrible criminal brought to justice. This is Lily Jumper of DNN reporting." The news fanfare sounded again and the TV returned to its previous show.

Jack stared at the TV for a moment longer before swearing loudly. "Damn fool! She's already calling that... butt man a killer and she hasn't even got a bit of evidence to back herself up! I swear, it seems like there's not one newsperson on TV that cares about anything but sensational hogwash!"

"All suspects are guilty until declared innocent, Jack," Payne said knowledgeably.

"I know; I know..." Having tended bar at the Gavel for three years, Jack was well acquainted with the maxim of the Modern State Legal System. "But, some days, it still seems kind of... dumb to me."

"I'm not the person that wrote all the rules, Jack."

"Yeah, but you're the only guy here for me to complain to. Maybe you could bring some more people in here next time; I could use some real business one of these days."

"Bah... I'm a prosecutor, not your recruitment slave," whined Payne.

"Whatever. You want another drink?"

"No thank you, Jack. I should be getting home... maybe there'll be a message on my answering machine or something."

"Who knows? Everybody gets a lucky break sometime, that's for sure."

"I might be able to prove you wrong..." said Payne with a wry smile. "I believe this will be enough to cover the drinks," he added, handing Jack a few small bills. "You make keep the change, of course."

Jack scurried to place the bills in the old-fashioned cash register at the back of the bar. "Thank you, Mr. Payne. You're a good customer."

"It pays to have someone who listens," said Payne wistfully. He eased himself to the ground and walked out of the room, sounding the door chime once more in his retreat.

Jack picked up the empty mug and cocktail glass that Payne had left behind and sat them in the little sink behind the bar before returning to his seat.

"Alone again..." he said sadly. "Oh well, back to work..."

He dealt out his pack of cards.

"First, I put the black ten on the red jack, and then I put the red eight on the black nine..."

* * *

**A/N: **Those of you that are active on the Court Records forums may recognize this fic; I've been steadily posting it on their fanfiction forum for just over a year. The reason I am posting it here gradually and not all at once is because I wish to both revise the text of the fic (hopefully with the help of at least one beta) and to rearrange its structure. The first is fairly straightforward; the latter will be accomplished by altering some plot points from the Court Records version and, on occasion, adding in plot points that I had considered but not used before. With support, a little luck, and a **lot** of time, I hope to succeed in this endeavor. 

Also, I am aware that the first chapter of this fic is somewhat detached with the mainstream PW world; I assure you, this quality will lessen as more and more story events intersect with fanfic events later on.

Reviews would be nice, but I will not guilt you into leaving them.


	2. Ep I Part 2: A Break in the Gloom

**Note: **Phoenix Wright / Gyakuten Saiban, its settings, plot points, and characters, are all the property of Capcom, and are being used here without permission. This chapter takes place the evening before GS1 Case 1; Spoilers for that case and (again) a small bit of GS3 Case 1.

_Part 2/3: A Break in the Gloom_

**August 2****nd****, 5:58 PM**

"Even for the Gavel, this is pathetic!" Jack yelled, his voice echoing off the walls of his again empty bar. "Most days there are at least one or two people here by now." Jack didn't really care how crazy he sounded talking to himself; you had to be a little crazy if you wanted to survive in the tavern industry.

Jack sighed loudly. "I'd better calm down. Getting all angry isn't going to make people suddenly show up."

Bored, he started occupying himself by wiping down the bar counter. In order to make the time pass by more quickly, he turned on the radio and started singing along to the first tune he could find: one of the new-age techno-pop songs that helped define the 2010s as the decade of the "New Electric Revolution". Of course, in Jack's mind, many of the alien vibrations coming out of his TV were not so much revolutionary as they were revolting.

"When I find... the best iridium..." he crooned; shaking his head slightly at one of the songs most nonsensical bit of lyrics.

_"I'm gonna try... to prove my idiom!"_ boomed a baritone voice.

Jack jumped and blushed when he realized that he was no longer alone in the bar. Standing before him was a rather childish-looking man, his security guard uniform somewhat distorted by a not-so-childish looking belly. Scratching at a head of short and curly dark hair, he said, "Now, Jack... I know you're alone in the bar and all... but seriously! You couldn't find a better song than 'Justice-man forever' to sing along to?! I mean, even that 1980's station's got better songs than this piece of cyber-trash!"

"And a warm hello to you too, Donny." Jack said dryly, forcing back his embarrassment. "I was starting to get worried when you didn't show up last Friday; I thought you'd finally kicked the bucket on me!" Seriously, Jack hadn't worried too much about the absence of his best customer (and best friend); Donald Docket often skipped a trip to the Gavel in order to spend some time at places more befitting for a single man in his late 20s.

"Sorry about that, Jack. You see, yesterday one of the third-shift guys told me about this new little club near the edge of the city and I just had to give it a try. It wasn't as good as I'd hoped."

"Oh?" said Jack, a slight bit of superiority slipping into his voice.

"Um-hum. Turns out it was of those hick places; nothing but cheap beer and country music. They had some _weird _clubbers too."

"Weird, eh? Well, I just happen to be an expert on the subject of weird," joked Jack in a pompous voice. "What's the best example you've got?"

"Hmmm... it'd have to be during the mechanical-bull riding contest."

"Oh yeah... I used to have a regular that tried to make me get one of those things. I think I'd rather drink straight bitters than deal with such... bull."

"That was lame, Jack," Donny said with a groan. "Anyway, nearly everyone that rode that thing was nutty, not to mention drunk stupid. The weirdest one was definitely the winner. Have you ever seen a redheaded woman with an afro?"

"No, I can't say I haven't." said Jack.

"Well, this afro-woman rode the damn thing for over a minute! I thought she was going to get brain damage getting all shook up like that. And then she just lets herself get thrown off and starts talking about UFOs giving her magic powers or something. If I hadn't still been sober at the time, I wouldn't have believed my ears."

"Hmmm... sounds absolutely mental. Did you try asking her out?"

"Gak!" shouted Donny, clutching his chest in mock agony. "That's a cheap shot, Jack! You'd better not be expecting any tip after that one."

Jack smiled and clutched at his stomach in turn. "Oh, I have been impaled upon my own sword!" he said, his face distorted from surprised laughter. He paused a moment to gather himself. "So, do you want me to get you something or not?"

"One beer should do the trick."

"Say no more, Donny, say no more." Jack quickly grabbed a clean mug and walked over to the three beer taps near the center of the bar counter. He pulled the middle tab and filled the mug with regular beer, then sat it on the counter and slid it ten feet over to Donny with a flourish.

"You're a good man, Jack." said Donny stoutly before taking a large swig.

"Got any other interesting stories for me today?" asked Jack brightly.

"Not up here," he replied, tapping a finger against his head, "but I did take the courtesy of brining you a newspaper." He reached into the back pocket of his uniform and produced a rolled up copy of the _District City Examiner_. He sat it on the counter, unrolled it, and shoved it over to Jack. "Look at the bottom of the front page," he added. "It looks like our squeaky-voiced buddy Mr. P finally got himself a decent break."

Jack peered at the bottom of the page and blinked at the sight of a small article titled "_Prosecutor Payne Promises Punishment: Guilty verdict expected for Happy Heights Murderer_".

Looking up from the paper, Jack smiled and said, "Payne's always complaining to me that he never gets much notice from the media. Maybe some honest publicity will get him out of his blue funk."

"Maybe. But if he _does _win he just might start talking a lot more, too, and I for one don't think I can keep coming here if I have to listen to that happy pixie voice chattering all the time."

"Be nice, Donny," said Jack, drawing out each syllable in admonishment. "He's as good a customer as you are, and I'm in no condition to start dealing with barroom brawls between two of my regulars." He paused before smiling and adding, "Of course, considering what building this is, it wouldn't be too hard for me to get a couple of police officers with handcuffs here in a jiffy."

Donny chuckled in return. "Of course not; this is one of the safest places in the City! Aren't you glad I helped you get this job?"

"Yeah, yeah," said Jack dismissively. Indeed, Donny was the man who had told Jack that the Gavel needed a new bartender just three years earlier, and he had a tendency to bring up the subject every time Jack put him under pressure. Jack added, "Now, will you let me read this damn article, or do I have to get you a muzzle?"

Donny merely sighed and looked down at his drink. Jack gave him a little smile and started to read.

**Prosecutor Payne Promises Payback**

_Guilty Verdict Expected for Happy Heights Murderer_

By Henrietta Happenstance

_As District City continues to mourn the death of innocent young woman Cindy Stone, preparations for tomorrow's trial are being made on both sides of the courtroom. District Prosecutor Winston Payne has already expressed his confidence in an eventual 'guilty' verdict for defendant Larry Butz._

_"You see, I've already seen the evidence and talked to a reliable witness. Any attempts the defense makes to let this killer free will clearly be lies," Payne said._

_The relationship once shared between the defendant and the victim will have a profound effect on the emotional atmosphere in the courtroom._

_"Oh, yeah. Mr. Butz and Ms. Stone used to date, but some bad things happened and she broke up with him. I guess Mr. Butz wanted revenge for that," Payne said._

_However, despite the almost overwhelming amounts of evidence against the suspect, the defense still has a rather alarming belief in Mr. Butz's innocence._

_"My new understudy believes that the allegations against Harry are completely and utterly untrue," said Defense attorney Mia Fey, owner of the Fey and Co. Law offices. "I believe that he is perfectly capable of proving this in front of a judge."_

_The aforementioned understudy, a Mr. Phoenix Wright, was unavailable for comment._

Jack folded the paper and looked up thoughtfully. "I guess Payne's actually serious about winning this one," he said. "Of course, the paper's already behind him; I have yet to see the _Examiner _side with the accused guy before a trial. Damn reporters know they'll sell more papers with bloodlust they than they will with rhyme and reason." He folded the newspaper up and placed it on a shelf under the counter.

"Hey! I might've wanted that back, Jack!" whined Donny indignantly.

"Do you?" asked Jack, raising an eyebrow.

"No. Not really."

"That's what I thought." Noticing Donny's empty beer mug, he added, "You want another beer?"

"Nah, better get me one of them colas of yours." Donny replied scratching his head thoughtfully. "You see, I've heard of a dance club I haven't been to yet, and the ladies there won't get a good impression of The Don if he wraps his car around a lamppost on the other side of the city."

"I don't think they'll get a good impression either way, but that's probably just my sobriety talking," quipped Jack.

Donny merely stuck his tongue out at the insult while Jack turned around and filled another mug with cola out of the barroom fridge.

"Thank you kindly," said Donny mockingly after Jack placed his drink in front of him. "I wonder if the Old Pain's going to stop by soon now that he's got the wind back in his sails."

"Not sure. I guess he could..." Jack trailed off as the sound of the door chime filled the room once again. Jack looked up to see not Winston Payne but a tall suited man with straggly dark hair maneuvering around the tables that stood between the door and the bar. He sat deftly on the barstool next to Donny, his normally stony-looking face distorted by a creepy smile.

"Evening, Mr. Hammond," said Jack. "I assume by your expression that you had a good day?"

"Indeed I did! I won another case today!" he announced in a low, gravelly voice.

"I see! That makes... 489, right?" Since Defense Attorney Robert Hammond always came to the Gavel after a victory, it was rather easy for Jack to keep track of his win total.

"Indeed it does, Keeper! Just another couple months and I'll make it to 500! Very few defense attorneys make it that far; it's a very honorable number."

"You going to tell about it?" asked Donny pointedly.

"Whiskey first... and then I'll tell you my story." he replied.

Jack obediently grabbed a shot glass out of a cupboard and pulled Hammond's favorite brand of single malt Irish whiskey off of the top liquor shelf. He filled the glass to the appropriate level and sat it before Hammond, the glass clinking softly upon impact. Hammond grabbed the little glass and downed the shot mechanically.

"Another, please," he commanded.

Jack frowned slightly but filled the glass anyway, setting it down more gently this time. Hammond downed the second shot just as quickly as the first.

"That really hits the spot, it does." He turned to Donny and said, "Now I guess you'll want me to tell you a tale?"

"If you can," said Donny. "Just be quick about it. I've got me a new club to go to later."

Hammond suddenly let out a loud, harsh laugh, causing both Jack and Donny to jump. "Sorry about that," he began. "It's just the fact that you used the word 'club' was a rather funny coincidence, considering the weapon in today's trial happened to be a golf club."

"So it was a murder trial, then?"

"No... But the victim was left in a coma. The doctors were fairly sure that he would never recover."

Jack shuddered. "Horrible."

"Indeed it was. Anyway, I was defending the victim's caddy. He was a shifty-eyed bloke, made me shudder every time I looked at him. The prosecuting attorney had a witness, the victim's friend, who supposedly saw the two argue before the caddy bashed the victim across the head with a pitching wedge. Nasty business, that."

Jack winced again while Donny asked, "How'd you turn the trial around, then?"

"It was actually quite simple. Upon investigating the crime I found several pieces of evidence that flew in the face of the witness's claims. The witness claimed to see the shocked look on the defendant's face immediately after he committed his crime, even though he earlier testified that the caddy had his back turned to him when he committed the act."

"Witnesses do tend to stretch the truth for dramatic effect every now and then," said Jack thoughtfully. "It's not a good thing to do, of course, but people often think a good story will make the judge pay more attention to them."

"I'm well aware of that, Mr. Keeper," said Hammond dryly. "But, then he corrected his mistake and talked in more detail about the weapon that had been used. He said the defendant pulled it out of the victim's golf bag and nailed him with it."

"I don't see a problem with that, Mr. H," said Donny.

"Let me finish, damn it!" yelled Hammond, pounding a fist against the bar. After making sure that Donny had shut up, he continued, "The problem with that testimony was also quite simple. You see, the assault weapon was a _right-handed_ golf club. However, the victim was a _left-handed _golfer! So there'd be no good reason for the victim to have a right-handed golf club in his own bag! Then I asked the witness how he golfed, and he said right-handed!"

"So, was that all the evidence the judge needed?" asked Jack as he washed Hammond's empty shot glasses.

"Not quite. Damn murderer tried to stop me from winning with one more round of testimony. He said he'd been friends with the victim for years, and they were only playing for fun. He said he had absolutely no motive! That's when I showed him my trump card."

"Trump card?"

"Indeed, a trump card! I had gotten to look around the golf cart the two had driven before the trial, and I came across a crumpled piece of paper in the back compartment. It turns out there was a $1,000 bet riding on the game! I showed him this, and told the court that he obviously didn't want to lose that money! Once the witness saw that, he snapped like a twig! Turns out he'd just hit a ball into some thick weeds. He told the caddy to go find it for it for him, and then the victim said something snide and that witness grabbed his club and nailed him!"

Jack gasped slightly in surprise before asking, "Then how come the caddy got blamed for the crime and not the true assaulter?"

Hammond's lips curled into another creepy smile. "The other golfer was rather smart. The caddy didn't hear the scuffle and was still heading for the weeds that golf ball had landed in, so the nasty witness hopped in the cart and drove full speed to the club, where he called the police. When the police showed up later, the caddy had found the unconscious victim and was holding the weapon in a state of shock. At the time, that was enough for the dimwitted detectives to arrest him!"

"I see."

"Indeed. It doesn't matter, though. In the end, I got me my victory, and that's all the reward I really need."

"Of course that's all you need," muttered Jack dryly, noticing that Hammond didn't mention an innocent man going free as a part of his "reward".

"Sounds good," added Donny absently.

"Indeed, it is good! Now that I've had my whiskey and you've had your story, I have better places to celebrate my victory than this little hole in the ground! Put the drinks on my tab, Mr. Keeper."

"Okay, Mr. Hammond," said Jack sullenly. Hammond was one of several customers that charged his drinks to a tab; he typically paid the balance in full once a month so Jack had no good reason to complain.

"Thank you," muttered Hammond dryly. And with that, he stood up and walked towards the door on the other side of the room.

"Jeez, even when he wins, old Robbie's a grump," whispered Donny.

_"Get out of my way, you creepy little gnome!" _echoed Hammond's voice from beyond the bar door.

"You could say that," said Jack, smiling. He looked up to see Winston Payne entering the room, his normally glum visage replaced with an almost abnormal expression of elation.

He sat on the stool previously occupied by Hammond and squealed, "Good to see you, Jack!" He stuck out his hand expectantly.

Jack knew Payne would be happier than normal, but he hadn't really expected _this._ However, he forced his misgivings back and grabbed Payne's hand. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Payne," he droned stiffly.

Failing to notice the sarcasm, Payne merely spun around on his stool and extended the same hand towards Donny. "And the same goes for you, Mr. Docket!" he squeaked, the smile on his face widening.

"Always an Honor, Mr. P!" replied Donny, his voice filled with exaggerated vigor.

Payne sighed happily. "It's always nice to have friends that care about you..."

"It's what makes us people," said Jack slyly. "Now, can I get you anything? Your usual, perhaps?"

"Yes, please!" said Payne, nodding vigorously. "And put _three _cherries in it this time! This is a day for celebration!"

"Yes, sir!" barked Jack with a mocked salute. He pivoted on one foot and went to gather the cocktail ingredients.

Donny chuckled to himself at the sight of Payne's rare enthusiasm. "Jeez, you give a prosecutor one decent case, and it goes straight to their head!" he exclaimed, chuckling.

Payne merely gave a squeaky chuckle in return. "You can laugh at me all you want, Donny. This isn't about fame or luck. This is about payback!" He smacked the bar to emphasize his point.

"Payback? Exactly what you mean by that?" said Donny, puzzled.

"I'd like to know that myself," added Jack as he placed Payne's drink in front of him. "One Shirley Temple served cold, with _three _cherries instead of one and no orange. Is it to your liking?"

Payne picked up the cocktail glass with a grace he normally lacked and took a modest sip. "It's _perfect_, Jack. I don't think you could have made it better if your life depended on it!"

Jack chocked back a laugh after hearing Payne's over-the-top praising of his drink. Instead, he asked, "So... what exactly do you mean by payback?"

Payne sat up straighter and pushed the bridge of his glasses upward. "Did you read the front page article about me in the _Examiner?"_ After hearing Jack and Donny's murmurs of accent he continued, "Well, then you should know what law firm has been pitted against me."

"Well, the paper said that the Fey and Co. law offices were handling the defense." Jack's eyes widened slightly as he remembered Payne's issues with Mia Fey. "Oh... you're still peeved about that?" he asked incredulously.

"Why shouldn't I be peeved? Ms. Fey was the one that turned me into... this!" He waved an arm up and down his body, indicating his current appearance.

Jack frowned a bit at Payne's accusation. "Well, her client _was _innocent. It's only fair that an innocent man go free, even if his defense attorney happened to be one of those rookies you like to crush so much."

"Yeah, there's no point in blaming yourself for landing on the wrong side of a case. It happens to everyone in here every now and then," added Donny.

"Yes... but, before that day... I'd been in my prime. I'd won practically every case that was put before me! But now... I barely win half my cases, and I'm only that successful because they make me handle lots of guilty pleas! It's enough to make me scream!" He started hyperventilating in his anger.

Donny leaned over and snapped his fingers in front of Payne's face. "Pull yourself together man! You're going to pass out on the floor, and you haven't even had a decent drink yet!"

Payne jumped slightly, but he managed to slow his breathing. "Sorry..." he muttered, "it's just... memories, you know? Every time I lose a case, I see Mia Fey and her whiny pink-shirted creep of a defendant. I'll never forget that man's face..."

"What was his name?" asked Donny.

"Oh, I don't remember. Nixon, Weenie, Nixxi-Ryu-Feenie, something stupid like that." squeaked Payne dryly, waving a hand.

"Hmmm," muttered Jack, rubbing his forehead in thought. "So you' think that beating Ms. Fey's new rookie will get you your... uh, groove back?"

"Hopefully," muttered Payne. Suddenly, the unusual smile returned to his face. "Of course, since they've finally given me some solid evidence and a decent witness, it'll be almost impossible for me to lose!"

"Sounds good," said Jack. Honestly, Jack had no qualms with Payne getting a lucky break every now and then; it was actually somewhat refreshing to deal with him when he wasn't stuck in his perpetual blue funk.

"Good? Of course it's good! Now, if you will excuse me," said Payne, tugging at his tie, "I have a court strategy to plan!" He paid Jack for the drink and matched out of the room, his head held high with confidence.

As soon as the barroom door swung shut behind him, Donny broke out into a loud fit of laughter. Jack merely glared at him as he started rocking back and forth and slapping his hand against the table, obviously in hysterics.

"Exactly what is so funny about the presence of one of my other half-decent customers?" he asked.

Donny placed a hand on his chest and took several deep breaths. After he got the worst of his laughter under wraps, he replied, "Sorry, I was just thinking about Mr. P and I realized he's a lot like a big helium balloon when in he's in a good mood." He sighed contentedly at the notion.

Jack only thought about Payne's head replaced by a large helium balloon for a few seconds before he too was consumed by vigorous laughter. He didn't like laughing at his customers, but with a funny mental image it was impossible for him to resist.

Regaining his self-control, Jack replied, "I guess you have a point there. I think I'll buy him a couple of celebration balloons before I open the Gavel up tomorrow afternoon."

"He'll probably think that's kind of odd."

"Well, that's why I'll be blaming you for coming up with that particular joke."

Donny locked eyes with Jack for just an instant before he burst out laughing once more.

Jack absently thought to himself, _if anyone's in the old parking garage down the hall, they'll probably think we're going crazy, _before succumbing to laughter once again.

* * *

**A/N: **Those of you who are reading this fiction for the first time are probably worried about the fact that OC's are currently dominating the dialogue. While I admit upfront that my story is told from the perspective of an original character and also contains several (as of the last time I checked, just under a dozen) more original characters, I also assure you that, in later chapters, more significant canon characters become more prominent within the storyline. Additionally, with the exception of Jack, nearly every OC I introduce has some sort of role within the canon that exists but is not explored within the game. The canon role of Donny Docket, for example, can as of this point be gleamed by readers with a working knowledge of GS1. 

Next comes the last part of the Case 1 story-arc, where Edgeworth and Gumshoe make their first barroom appearance.


	3. Ep I Part 3: Payback Denied

**Note: **Phoenix Wright / Gyakuten Saiban, its settings, plot points, and characters, are all the property of Capcom, and are being used here without permission. This chapter takes place the afternoon after GS1 Case 1; Spoilers for that case and (once again) a small bit of GS3 Case 1._  
_

_Part 3/3: Payback Denied_

**August 3****rd****, 2:20 PM**

"Seems I spend more of my time talking to myself in an empty bar than I do actually earning my keep around here," Jack said. He grabbed a balloon string that was hanging in front of him and pulled the actual dirigible to face-level. "Isn't that right, Mr. Smiley?" he asked in a voice saturated with sarcastic sweetness.

As Donny had suggested to him the day before, Jack had made a trip to a local general store in order to buy some balloons in order to celebrate Mr. Payne's impending victory. At first, he figured he would only buy 3 or 4 of the things, but then the store clerk had told him a dozen was a better number, so he tried to buy a dozen. Of course, then the clerk threw in the fact that there was a price break at 25. Therefore...

"That pesky clerk pulled me in hook, line, and sinker, didn't he?" he asked the bright yellow smiley-faced balloon as he gazed around at the other two dozen identical balloons littering the Gavel's shiny-gold ceiling. He returned his gaze to the original balloon and sighed. "Of course, it'll all be worth it to see that strange little customer of mine proud of himself for once. Now, if only the stupid trial would hurry up and finish he might be able to get here before I get fed up with your stupid smile and bust out my old BB gun." He brought the balloon closer, so that it was bumping against his nose. "Yeah, that'll wipe the smile right off of your stupid face, now won't it?"

"It seems I shall have to contact the local insane asylum," drawled a smooth voice. "A pity; I almost made it to a year without having to commit a bartender."

"Gak!" Jack jumped and threw the helium balloon away as if it were a bomb. He turned to face his customer. "Sorry about that, Mr. Edgeworth," he said, embarrassed. "I thought I was all alone since I didn't hear you trip the door-ringer."

Second High Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, clad in his usual fancy port-wine suit, merely adjusted his cravat and smirked. "The door was propped open, Jack. It would be quite... contradictory for my entrance to set off your little alarm considering I didn't have to push on the door."

Jack chuckled weakly. "I see, Mr. Edgeworth. What'll you have?"

"First, I would like a bit of wine," said Edgeworth, "Nothing too special; I haven't done anything today to deserve better." He paused dramatically. "Second, I would like to know why you have all of these stupid helium balloons floating about. Surely you're not that desperate for companionship, now are you?"

Jack refused to rise to Edgeworth's accusation. "No, not really. After all, business is doing great," he said, his voice airy and sarcastic. He slid open a door and gazed into gavel's small wine rack, searching for something that would meet Edgeworth's demands. He grabbed one of the less expensive bottles and placed it before his customer. "Will this be to your liking?" he asked sweetly.

Edgeworth made a great spectacle of gazing at the bottle. "Looks decent," he muttered. "The price?"

"Let me check the bottle." Placing little price stickers on wine bottles was hardly professional, but it made things a lot easier. "Nine dollars a glass."

"Good. One glass, please."

Jack grabbed a wineglass and filled it to the appropriate level with deep-red liquid. Edgeworth gripped the glass and swirled the wine around, gazing at the liquid thoughtfully. He then brought it up to his nose and sniffed it gingerly. His weary face broke into a slight smile as he lowered the wine to his lips and took a tentative sip, his pinky extended. He sat the glass down and tasted for a moment before finally swallowing his drink.

"Definitely not first-class, but a decent quality for its price range," he commented. "The aftertaste in particular is a bit off."

Jack smiled slightly; from Edgeworth such neutral comments were rather high praise. "Well, you asked for nothing too special. I could have tried to line my pockets a bit more, but alas, I'm far too honest and trustworthy for that," said Jack, placing the back of one hand against his head in mock emotionality.

"I see. While I find it difficult to find many people worth _trusting, _I'll admit you're rather honest," he said plainly, taking another sip from the wineglass. "Of course, if you're _truly_ honest, you will take the time to explain to me the purpose of these... things." He then waved an arm grandly to again indicate the various smiley faced balloons.

"Oh, those things? Mr. Payne's got himself a big case today, and he believed he'd be able to win it. I figured if he actually got himself a decent win it'd be nice to have some decorations to celebrate it with."

"I see," muttered Edgeworth, again sipping from the wineglass. "Of course, I've won far more cases this year than that neophyte, and yet I have no balloon parties to show for it. A pity..."

"Well, Mr. Payne comes round here more often, and I figured it'd be good to see him in a good mood for once."

"Maybe..." said Edgeworth. "Mr. Payne's quite an odd man when it comes to temperament. When I first became I prosecutor he seemed rather... sure of himself. He was almost as confident as Mr. Von Karma, if you can believe that."

"I know. Payne's told me a lot about his past. Heck, that's why he's so happy about today's trial; he hopes that by beating Mia Fey's new understudy he'll somehow get his winning ways back."

"I see..." said Edgeworth, before adding, "Mia Fey has an understudy? I was unaware of that. I know she broke away from the Grossberg firm a good while ago, but I didn't think she'd get a protégé so quickly. I'll have to check the new attorney listings again; it's been quite a while since I last looked through them."

"I read his name yesterday," Jack said softly, "though for the life of me I can't remember what it is. I'm surprised the news channel hasn't said anything about it yet; they were hyping that murder to high heaven two days ago. All these fancy networks are nothing but pathetic..." Jack trailed off as the breaking news jingle rang out across the room. "Well, maybe this'll be it."

"Good afternoon viewers, I'm Lily Jumper." The dark-haired newswoman looked even more pale and sallow than usual. "We interrupt this broadcast of 'Creeps and Killers' to bring you the latest information in the Cindy Stone murder trial."

"Hot damn, that's the one!" shouted Jack, pumping a fist in the air.

"Jack..." said Edgeworth warningly. "It's not a very good idea to expend such... emotion on trivial coincidences."

"Pipe down, Mr. Edgeworth, I'm trying to listen!" exclaimed Jack as he grabbed a remote and turned the television volume up.

"...we at DNN have received word that the judge has declared a verdict; though word of that verdict has not yet directly reached me. Of course, the specifics of this case make it very likely that the suspect, Mr. Larry Butz, was found guilty. However, I will hold off on official pronouncement before the verdict has been released..." Jumper trailed off as someone appeared on screen and placed a sheet of paper on the desk in front of her. As she gave the new paper a quick read, her expression went from its normal detachment to stunned disbelief.

"Looks like she drank a bottle of something nasty," said Jack, clapping his hands together gleefully at the newswoman's discomfort.

"Please keep a lid on your emotions, Mr. Keeper," muttered Edgeworth.

Jack merely gave a mock salute and returned his attention to the TV, where Lily Jumper seemed to have finally overcome enough of her shock to begin speaking again. "More breaking news coming into DNN headquarters," she stated morosely. "It appears that the Cindy Stone case has ended in a verdict of 'Not Guilty' for the defendant, Mr. Larry Butz." She paused dramatically before continuing, "It appears that a guilty verdict was avoided when Mr. Butz's defense attorney managed to successfully convict a supposedly innocent witness of the crime. For more on this incredible chain of events, I turn things over to our legal expert, Mr. Bill Grantor."

The screen cut away to show an older man with wavy gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard sitting behind another news desk, presumably elsewhere in the same studio. "Thank you, Lily," he said in a low, raspy voice. "While the Cindy Stone murder trial ended just about fifteen minutes ago, we've managed to gather enough information through our video link to the courthouse in order to give it a through and proper analysis. At first glance, this case appeared to be absurdly simple, even for this day and age. The victim had apparently died from a single blow to the head from a blunt object. The blunt object appeared to be this statue of 'The Thinker'." A picture of the statue appeared just above Grantor's shoulder.

"Hey... I saw a big version of that statue in Europe once," said Jack. "Don't fancy getting knocked over the head with it, that's for sure."

"Quiet, Jack!" Edgeworth was now starting to pay considerable attention to the television. Jack merely frowned and returned his focus to the broadcast.

"...Mr. Larry Butz also had considerable reason to kill Ms. Stone. The prosecutor for this case, Mr. Winston Payne, put forth the argument that Mr. Butz had recently dumped by the victim." At this point, a picture of Payne appeared in the empty space above Mr. Grantor's right shoulder. Jack smiled when he realized it was an old photo, taken back when Payne still had a full head of hair.

"I feel sorry for old Winston," said Jack softly. "I guess I've got myself a room full of sympathy balloons now."

**"Shhh!"**

"Sorry."

"However, all of Prosecutor Payne's arguments were completely rebuffed by rookie defense attorney Phoenix Wright." Mr. Payne's old photograph was suddenly replaced by a picture of a much younger man with spiky dark hair.

Jack was about to comment on the DA's bizarre hairstyle when he noticed Edgeworth coughing furiously; apparently he'd gotten some wine in his windpipe.

"Are you okay, Mr. Edgeworth?" asked Jack loudly.

Edgeworth continued to gasp on his own air.

"C'mon, Mr. Edgeworth, get a hold of yourself! You don't want to end up getting CPR from me, now do you?"

Edgeworth finally managed to catch his breath. "My apologies, Mr. Keeper. Now would you turn the set off, please?"

"But I'm still watching this report!" whined Jack.

"**Turn the set off!"** shouted Edgeworth, pointing at the TV furiously, as if his finger could magically make it explode.

"Fine," huffed Jack. He grabbed the remote and turned off the television. "I'd better be getting a good tip for this," he grumbled.

"Oh, you will. Now pour me another glass of wine, please."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You haven't even finished what's in front of you," he said, pointing to Edgeworth's half-full wineglass.

Edgeworth scowled and chugged the rest of his wine in a quick series of gulps, completely abandoning his usual connoisseur habits. He slammed the wineglass back on the table and slid it towards Jack. "Now fill it up."

Jack sighed and filled the glass to the appropriate level. Edgeworth snatched the glass as soon as he could and downed half of it in a single swallow, his face contorting slightly from the wine's bitter aftertaste.

"Damn, Mr. Edgeworth, take it easy!" said Jack loudly, clapping a hand to his forehead. "What's up with you, anyway? You're acting like you've just seen a Goddamn ghost!"

For the briefest instant, the corner of Edgeworth's mouth twitched upward into a half-smile. "Maybe I have, Jack. Maybe I have..." he muttered before sipping at his wine once again.

Jack fell silent as he tried to figure out exactly what Edgeworth meant by those words. His silent reverie was cut short, however, when he heard repetitive thumping sounds echoing from off into the distance. "Do you hear that?" he asked Edgeworth.

Edgeworth sat down his wineglass and nodded. "Sounds like someone running in the hallways."

"I can't see much outside the door," said Jack slowly, "but it sounds like it's heading right for us!"

"I'll check," said Edgeworth. He stood up and walked to a spot where he could peer down the length of the long hallway outside the Gavel's open door. "Uh-oh..." he said, his voice slightly on edge.

"What is it? Something bad?"

"No, not bad... just... annoying," he drawled as he sat back on his bar stool.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Jack.

Edgeworth never got to reply as a tall, hefty man in a trench coat burst into the room. He slipped about on the wood-paneled floor as he somehow managed to keep his pace at a run without knocking over any of the seldom-used tables. He finally slid to a stop a few feet away from the bar, a big smile on his dopey bandaged face.

"Afternoon Jack; Mr. Edgeworth!" he exclaimed, breathing heavily thanks to his meaningless run. "It's great to see my two favorite pals hanging out together!"

"I don't know Edgeworth would consider this to be 'hanging out'. But that doesn't really matter, now doesn't it? It's good to see you too, Detective Gumshoe!" said Jack brightly, extending an arm across the bar counter. While the Chief Homicide Detective was neither a big spender nor a decent tipper, the crazy stories he often told during his trips to the Gavel were valuable enough to make him one of Jack's favorites.

"It's good to see you too, pal!" said Gumshoe, crushing Jack's hand with an overenthusiastic handshake. He let Jack's fingers go and spun around on the stool to face Edgeworth. "The same goes for you, Mr. Edgeworth!" He again extended his hand.

"I'll pass," said Edgeworth simply, before stating, "While it's all well and good to see you here, Gumshoe, should you not be on duty? I'd hate to have to put yet another smudge on your record."

Surprisingly, Gumshoe's smile merely got wider. "Its okay, Mr. Edgeworth! Chief Gant gave me the day off today!"

"Sounds like an awful nice thing for him to do," said Jack cautiously. "Did you earn a reward or something?"

Gumshoe chuckled, his trench coat dancing as his body shook up and down. "Nah, nothing like that. What was it that Gant told me yesterday...? Oh, yeah. He said, 'I was walking outside on my break and I saw an old hound dog chasing its stubby little tail, having the time of its life. It reminded me of a certain detective that hasn't had a day off in a good while. Stay home and have some fun tomorrow, Gumshoe.'" Gumshoe paused and flashed another smile. "Wasn't that nice of him, pals?"

"Er, sure," said Jack as Edgeworth murmured in agreement. "Now, what do you want to drink, detective?"

"One beer, please!" said Gumshoe enthusiastically. "Oh and one, er... no, it's not important..." he added, trailing off.

"Are you sure it's not important?" asked Jack, raising an eyebrow. "You suddenly look kind of down."

"Oh, it's not really that big of a deal..." muttered Gumshoe, scratching the back of his head nervously.

"Are you sure?" added Edgeworth. "There's no sense in making yourself feel bad for no good reason."

"Yeah, but... it's embarrassing!"

"Ah, come on," said Jack, putting on his most endearing voice. "Edgeworth and I are your best... pals. We won't laugh at your request; we promise. Right, Mr. Edgeworth?"

"Huh? Oh, right, right..." said Edgeworth, quailing under Jack's glare.

"Fine... if you're sure you won't laugh..." He took a deep breath and asked very quickly, "Can I have one of those balloons, please?"

Jack quickly clapped a hand to his mouth to stop himself from breaking his promise. Jack looked over at Edgeworth to see that, while the Second High Prosecutor wasn't laughing, the corners of his mouth had turned upward into an undeniable smirk.

"Of course, Detective. No shame in that request." Jack turned to hide his smile and filled up a mug with beer. He then grabbed the nearest smiley-faced balloon and handed it to Gumshoe along with his drink.

"Your beer, and your balloon," said Jack simply. "Would you like me to tie it around your wrist for you?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice... Hey!" Gumshoe's face went from genial to angry in an instant. "Quit making fun of me, pal!"

Jack chuckled wryly. "Sorry, couldn't resist. Do you want anything else, Mr. Edgeworth?"

Edgeworth shook his head. "Not now. I'm just going to sit here and sober slightly before I attempt to drive home. The last thing I need is to crash my new car."

"Clever as always, Mr. Edgeworth!" said Gumshoe. He tugged at the balloon string in his hand and watched the smiley-face danced in the air jerkily. "What're all these balloons here for, anyway?"

"Well, Mr. Keeper here _purchased_ them in order to celebrate Prosecutor Payne's court victory today," said Edgeworth morosely. "Unfortunately, he underestimated that man's ability to lose even the simplest of cases."

"I see..." suddenly, a puzzled look flashed across Gumshoe's face, making him look even more clueless than usual. "Wait... you said Mr. Payne lost his case today?"

"Yes, he lost. It was on the television just a few minutes ago."

"But... that's impossible! My source told me Mr. Payne won! That Harry Butz is nothing but a rotten, no good murderer, pals!"

_Harry Butz?_ thought Jack disbelievingly. _The man wasn't named specifically for a bad pun, detective._

"What is your source? Nerdy Bob's random internet page?" asked Edgeworth sneeringly.

"No... Its this!" He reached inside his trench coat and handed Edgeworth a small, square newspaper. "Take that, Mr. Edgeworth!"

Edgeworth's eyes disappeared into his hair as he stared at the cover of the magazine. "The... _District City Revealer_?! You... you can't honestly believe this piece of garbage!" He threw the paper on the bar.

Jack looked at the tabloid with disbelief. Staring up at his was a poor-quality picture of Phoenix Wright, and the glaring headline _Harry Butz: The killer among us... REVEALED! _"Hmmm," muttered Jack softly. "I can see at least three things wrong with this cover."

"Sure you can, pal, sure you can..." said Gumshoe sarcastically. "What's wrong with it, if you're so smart?"

"Well, first of all... the defendant's name was not 'Harry Butz', it was _Larry_ Butz!"

Gumshoe jumped slightly and his mouth opened in shock. "Really? Well... that's no big deal! Maybe the person typing the headline hit the wrong key! Yeah, that's it! Happens all the time! Heck, I've accidentally typed my name in as 'Rick Humstew' more times that I can count, pal! It's an honest mistake!"

"Maybe," muttered Jack as he wondered just how bad of a typist Gumshoe had to be to misspell his name _that_ horrendously. "But look at this picture again." Jack turned the paper over so Gumshoe could see and taped on Mr. Wright's face.

"I see it. That's Mr. Butz, right?"

Jack sighed. "Wrong. According to the television, that is a photograph of defense attorney Phoenix Wright!"

Gumshoe jumped back again, his eyes bulging. "Really?" he spun around to face Edgeworth. "Is that true, Mr. Edgeworth?"

Edgeworth sighed and made a sour face. "Jack is correct, detective." he said languidly.

"Wow..." said Gumshoe. "But... they could have just put in the wrong picture! Heck, last week I accidentally replaced the picture of a murder weapon in a report with an image of a banana cream pie! Mistakes happen to the best of us, pal!"

Jack placed a hand against his forehead as he tried to comprehend the backlash _that _mistake made at the Police Department. "Fine... but answer one more question for me... and I'll prove that you can't trust this... thing!" Jack tapped the paper as he spoke.

Gumshoe frown for just a moment before flashing his biggest smile yet. "Sure thing, pal. I'll answer your question. Lay it on me!"

Jack was about to ask Gumshoe nicely when he was struck by an idea. He sent Edgeworth a smile and a wink before he hunched his shoulders slightly and forced his face into a tired frown. Carefully mimicking Edgeworth's soft, smooth speech inflections, he said, "Tell me, Detective Gumshoe. At exactly what... _time _did you purchase this newspaper?"

"Well, that's easy, Mr. Edge..., er Jack," said Gumshoe confusedly. "I got it around noontime! The newspaper stand was right across the street from the hotdog stand where I got my lunch today."

**"Objection!"** yelled Jack. He slammed his right hand against the bar, as Edgeworth often did in a rant after one complementary wine too many. "Detective Gumshoe. Your most recent statement contradicts the rest of the evidence."

"Huh? W-what do you mean?" Gumshoe tugged at the neck of his shirt, nervous.

Smirking once again, Jack grabbed the tabloid and brandished it thoughtfully. "If you were able to buy this magazine at noon, it must have been printed early this morning, correct?"

"Yeah... that's right, pal!"

"And therein lies the problem. You see, detective Gumshoe... the verdict in the Cindy Stone Murder Trial was reached just _several minutes ago._ Both Mr. Edgeworth and I saw the television announce it just before you entered this bar!"

"W-what does that mean?"

"If you look at the facts objectively, you will realize that it means one thing, and one thing alone." Jack mimicked one of Edgeworth's trademark dramatic pauses. _"This newspaper **couldn't** have accurately printed the verdict of a trial before it even started!"_

"What...? No!" Gumshoe shook his fist in anger, an action that would have been more scary-looking were it not for the balloon string still in his hand.

"Members of the tavern, the facts are clear. This so-called 'honest newspaper' has misspelled the defendants name, misprinted the defendant's picture, and passed judgment on the defendant well before he even received a chance to legally defend himself! In other words..." Jack gave another dramatic pause. _"This newspaper is nothing more than a lying, sensationalist rag!"_

"N-n-n... Aaargh!" yelled Gumshoe, his head in his hands.

Jack bowed dramatically. "I rest my case."

Gumshoe continued to hold his hands over his face, sniffling slightly. Apparently, Jack's rather obvious comments had severely shaken his view of things.

"Get a hold of yourself, Detective, it's not a real trial!" admonished Edgeworth loudly. He turned to Jack and shot him a glare. "If you have gained the ability to mock me with such... uncanny accuracy, perhaps it would be best if I stopped making such frequent appearances," he threatened coldly.

Jack gave a weak chuckle and grinned nervously. "Sorry about that, Mr. Edgeworth; you know I tend to get carried away sometimes..." he said in his normal, non-dramatic voice. Jack frowned at Gumshoe's continued sobbing; he had underestimated the detective's attachment to his favorite newspaper. Feeling guilty, Jack figured it'd be best to give Gumshoe some compensation for his dressing down. After all, a good bartender has to take care of his regulars.

"Detective?"

"Yeah, pal?" said Gumshoe, his voice still weak from sadness.

"Thanks for being a good sport, detective. That beer's on the house."

Gumshoe's expression went from tearful to ecstatic so quickly that Jack jumped backwards in surprise. "Really! Thanks pal! I feel all better now!" he shouted.

Jack laughed at Gumshoe's simplicity. "I'm sure you do."

Edgeworth sighed. "You're lucky you did that when you did, Mr. Keeper. I don't think I could have taken much more... whining."

Jack smiled and was about to tell Edgeworth he wholeheartedly agreed when...

**"Waaargh!" **A shrill yell echoed into the room.

Edgeworth glared at Gumshoe for a moment before he realized that he was not the source of the noise. "What the hell was that?" he asked out loud.

"Not sure," muttered Jack darkly.

"Sounded like a banshee!" exclaimed Gumshoe.

"Somehow, I doubt there's a banshee in the Prosecutors' Office," said Edgeworth.

**"Waaargh!"** The scream was louder this time.

"Are you sure?" asked Gumshoe.

"Yes, I'm sure! Now hold your tongue; I can't hear anything over your bickering!"

**_"Waaargh!"_ **Louder still.

"Whatever it is, it's pissed," said Jack.

**_"Waaaaaargh!"_ **With one final wail, Winston Payne wearily shuffled through the Gavel's open door. He slowly felt his way across the room as if he were a blind man and sat in the empty stool next to Gumshoe with an awkward _thump_. His normally pale face was blotchy; his remaining hair was disheveled; his glasses were askew. He paused and suddenly started sucking in air; obviously getting ready to yell again.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" shouted Jack, frantically waving his hands in front of Payne's face. "I know you lost your case today, but that's no reason to have a screaming match here!" Jack racked his brain for things that would make Payne feel a little better about himself. "Why don't you order a drink; tell us your story! Here, have a balloon." He thrust one of the smiley-face balloons at Payne, who grabbed it bemusedly.

"Er... thanks," he muttered wearily, obviously confused.

"I heard about your case on the news today," said Edgeworth sullenly. "My deepest condolences."

"Yeah, Mr. Payne!" chimed in Gumshoe. "You don't need to make a fool of yourself just because you lost one case! Isn't that right, Mr. Edgeworth?"

Edgeworth chuckled, a superior smirk forming on his face. "I honestly wouldn't know, detective."

"Oh yeah. Sorry, pal."

Jack decided it would be best to ignore Edgeworth and Gumshoe at the moment. He turned his head back to Payne and shot him a friendly smile. "What'll you have? Your usual?"

"No thanks, Jack. I don't think a Shirley Temple will cheer me up today no matter how many cherries you put in it. Get me a... light beer."

"Alright, Mr. Payne, but in the interest of the Golden Gavel and its patrons I'm going to have to limit you to one." Jack shot Payne a glare to show he was serious.

"What? Why?" stammered Payne, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

Jack's eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you remember what happened the last time you came here and had more than one beer?"

Payne smirked. "Of course I can, I... er..." he trailed off. "It's all hazy; I guess nothing worth remembering happened." he said sheepishly.

"Not quite," said Jack as he filled Payne's mug. "You see, two years ago you decided to have several beers in quick succession."

"Right. I remember that."

"Well, after you downed two and half beers, you started getting rather skittish. I tried to keep you from doing anything stupid, but there was no stopping you that night." Jack chuckled dryly.

Payne started to sweat in alarm. "What do you mean?" he wheezed.

"If my memory's not mistaken... and it hasn't been in a good long time... You started by getting everyone's attention and declaring your love for 'Bloody Mary'. Then, you climbed on a table and started disco dancing to a song nobody but you could hear. Once you got sick of that, you proceeded to steal my karaoke machine and tried to sing one of those old pop-diva songs. Unfortunately, you had turned the volume so damn high that your singing voice ended up shattering nearly half my good bar crystal. You only managed to get home that night because I stuffed your ass into a taxi and gave the driver very specific instructions along with a huge tip."

"Are you serious?" squeaked Payne.

"Why do you think I no longer sit my crystal out on the bar shelves? And, for that matter, for what other reason would I suddenly start keeping my karaoke machine in a padlocked cupboard?"

"I... I..."

"Don't remember. But I have witnesses if you don't believe me," said Jack solemnly. "Oh, here you go," he added, placing the beer in front of Payne.

"I honestly don't know if I want it anymore," Payne muttered, before taking a sip nevertheless.

"Now, would you mind explaining why you came in here screaming your damn head off?" asked Jack seriously. "Detective Gumshoe here thought you were a banshee, out to reap lost souls or something."

"You can't be serious..." he muttered.

"Detective Gumshoe indeed thought that. In fact, for the briefest of moments, I honestly considered agreeing with him," said Edgeworth plainly.

"I'm sorry," muttered Payne. "Today has simply been... quite a shock for me."

"Its okay, pal!" said Gumshoe cheerfully as he clapped Payne on the back (nearly knocking him off the stool in the process). "Tell us about your problems; it'll make you feel all better!"

"That is what we're here for," added Jack with a hint of amusement. "Right, Mr. Edgeworth?"

Edgeworth jumped slightly at the sudden mention of his name. "Yeah, er, right..." he muttered sarcastically.

"Fine..." said Payne resignedly. You all know about the circumstances of the trial, right?"

"Some of them. I'd know more if Mr. Edgeworth hadn't made me shut off the TV halfway through DNN's explanation," said Jack bitterly. Edgeworth sent him a withering glare in response.

"Mia Fey's been a thorn in my side for years..." said Payne. "In nearly half a decade I haven't once gotten the better of her." He paused to sip his drink. "I mean, even nowadays I usually get beat the rookies a couple of times before they start outmaneuvering me. But not her. She was the start of my ruin."

"You've told me this many times before," said Jack matter-of-factly. "What makes one more defeat so horrible?"

Payne laughed shakily. "If I was going up against Mia again, I would have _expected_ to lose. But they told me I was going against her new guy; her rookie!" He pounded a fist against the bar half-heartedly.

"Yeah... his name was Mr. Wright, right?" asked Jack.

"That's what the people in charge told me. Of course, it would have been nice if they'd told me that the defense attorney was also... him!" Payne dragged out the last word as if it were an expletive.

"Him?" repeated Jack confusedly, scratching his head.

"You know, Jack. Him! Pink-shirt!"

"Pink-shirt?" Now Jack sounded even more confused than he had before.

"Yeah, pink-shirt!" Payne started nodding furiously, his glasses slipping towards the end of his nose. "The innocent bastard that brought about my downfall!" Payne's face contorted into a feral grin, giving him a remarkable resemblance to an angry Yorkshire terrier.

"Wait," muttered Jack, remembering Payne's often-told story. "You mean, three years ago, Mia's defendant was..."

"Yes, yes! Phoenix Wright!" exclaimed Payne, sounding like he was on the verge of tears.

_Well, at least that's _almost_ an acceptable reason to have a nervous breakdown in public, _thought Jack blandly. _I'd better make sure he lets out the whole story so it doesn't eat at him. _He took a deep breath before saying, "Alright, Mr. Payne. Now tell me what went wrong at the courthouse today." Jack made sure to keep his voice calm and controlled.

"You really want to know?"

"If I don't listen to my customer's problems, I've got nothing to do but pour drinks. Considering my regular amount of business, that job by itself can get right boring," said Jack, chuckling.

"Fine," muttered Payne darkly. He paused and took another sip of beer; the mug was nearly finished when he sat it back down. "As much as I hate to say it this way, my problems today all boiled down to one thing...my witness."

"Oh yeah. I read about that in yesterday's paper. Of course, in there you called the witness 'reliable'," said Jack airily.

"I thought he was! I mean, he seemed so nice and honest. Why did he have to lie to me?!" Payne swayed slightly in his chair; even half a beer had a significant effect on his balance.

"Well, someone in his position obviously isn't going to admit the truth," said Jack. "Didn't his story seem fishy when you were going over it with him before the trial?"

"How should I know?" whined Payne. "We only discussed his testimony for twenty minutes!"

Edgeworth suddenly shot Payne a cockeyed glare. "No offense, Mr. Payne, but twenty minutes seems like an awfully... insufficient amount of time for preparing such a vital witness," he droned.

"I know, I know! But I had such a headache; I could barely hear what the man was saying, let alone compare it to the evidence at hand!"

"You get headaches too, pal?" asked Gumshoe, his eyes widening. "Man, I get those things all the time! Of course, it probably wouldn't be so bad if I didn't keep hitting my head on things!" He rapped a meaty fist against the side of his head. "Knock knock! See?" Gumshoe suddenly stopped knocking and rubbed the same spot furiously. "Ouch..."

Edgeworth let out a heavy sigh.

Payne ignored Gumshoe's stupidity and Edgeworth's reaction. "Such a nice man, that Mr. Sahwit." A shadow fell over Payne's face. "Of course, it would have been nice if he'd been smart enough to look at a God damn clock after he committed the crime, the liar!"

"You're starting to repeat yourself, Mr. Payne. So this Mr. Sahwit guy was a lying crook, eh?"

Payne nodded and tapped a twitchy finger to his temple in a poor imitation of one of Edgeworth's favorite courtroom gestures. "Yep. That's right. You know about the murder weapon?"

"I managed to see that. It was a statue, right? 'The Thinker?'"

"Almost," said Payne, limply waving a hand to and fro. "You see, I thought that too at first, and submitted the damn thing to the court as a statue. But it turns out it's actually a butt-ugly clock! You tilt the head, and it tells you what time it is! Isn't that just great?"

"Sounds like a neat idea," said Jack gently. "But what does that have to do with your witness?"

"Wait," muttered Edgeworth, stroking his chin in a thoughtful manner. "Your witness got the clock confused with the time of death, didn't he?"

"Yep." said Payne, nodding clumsily. "I would've been able to tell the Judge he was making a silly mistake, but Sahwit was just too sure of himself." Payne clapped his hands together and started swaying his body from side to side. "One o'clock. Yes, one o'clock. I am certain I saw the body at one o'clock." he quoted, his voice rapid and lilting.

"Sounds like a real go-getter," Jack mumbled to himself. "How'd you figure out it was a clock?"

Payne drank the last of his beer and looked at Jack crookedly. "Mr. One-for-certain kept stumbling over his own testimony. After he screwed up the time, he mumbled some garbage about hearing a taped TV program. Would've worked too if it wasn't for that downtown blackout."

"Oh yeah, I remember hearing about that. Good thing it didn't affect our Office; Donny told me the backup generator's been on the fritz a while and they still haven't bothered repairing it."

Payne peeled back his face into a hideous smile. "Indeed!" he exclaimed in a poor imitation of Robert Hammond's voice. "But you didn't let me finish my story."

"Oh, sorry. Always getting sidetracked..."

"Anyway, Sahwit tried to backpedal a bit on the time of the murder, but he had to call the statue a clock to do that. Was only then I realized that I'd mislabeled my evidence."

"A good attorney always double-checks his evidence," said Edgeworth mechanically.

"I know, I know! I just couldn't focus! So pink-shirt learned it was a clock, and used the time gap and my motive evidence to prove my witness guilty beyond the smallest of doubts! I tried to keep it from happening that way, but he was too... energetic!" said Payne, his voice indicating he was close to tears.

"It's okay, pal! There's always next time!" said Gumshoe cheerfully; patting Payne lightly on the back (apparently even Gumshoe could tell that Payne was getting rather tipsy).

Payne gave a sarcastic giggle. "Fat chance! The porcupine's so damn good he'd have to get a bout of amnesia before I had a chance at beating him!"

"Sounds like one tough cookie," said Jack, shaking his head from side to side.

"Very tough. Most convincing rookie I've seen since Fey herself." Payne spun around twice in his stool before stopping it so he faced Edgeworth and Gumshoe. Leaning around Gumshoe's large body he whispered, "You'd better watch out for that one, Edgeworth. He's going to be one hell of a lawyer to mess with, mark my words."

Edgeworth's face soured at Payne's warning. "I think, Mr. Payne, its high time you should be going home," he said coldly.

"Fine," said Payne, waving a hand. "Now I just need to remember where I parked my car." He jumped to his feet, swayed slightly, and started to fall forward. He grabbed the bar counter in order to stop his fall. "Strange... the ground's gotten a lot shakier since I sat down..."

Gumshoe put his right arm under Payne's left shoulder and hoisted him back to a standing position. "Doesn't look like you'll be driving yourself home tonight, pal," he said somberly. "Not unless you want me putting you under arrest, of course." Gumshoe chuckled at his bit of wit.

"Then... who's going to drive me home?"

Gumshoe spun 180 degrees and shot Edgeworth a pleading look.

Edgeworth's face contorted in irritation. "Why can't _you _do it?" he asked sullenly.

"My apartment and his are on opposite sides of the city, Mr. Edgeworth! But your house is only a couple of minutes away. Please?" He poked out his lip as if he were a two-year-old demanding a sweet.

Edgeworth's face contorted even further; he turned to glare at Jack.

"You're the one that suggested he go home, Mr. Edgeworth." said Jack with a smile.

Edgeworth appeared even angrier; his left eye started to twitch ominously. "Errrgh... fine." he spat. He reached into his pants pocket, pulled out a wallet, and slammed a fifty-dollar banknote on the counter. "This should be enough to cover me and him," he sneered, pointing a finger at Payne.

"More than enough!" said Jack brightly. "Hope you have a good trip!" He paused for a moment. "Oh, and take some balloons with you before you go!

Edgeworth merely growled again and snatched a couple of balloons out of the air before getting to his feet and grabbing Payne by the arm. "Come on, Rookie Crusher, we're going for a ride." He shook his head as Payne nearly fell flat on his face trying to walk across the room. "Your wife's going to be proud of you when you get home," he muttered before leading Payne out the door.

Gumshoe chuckled as Edgeworth's complaints and curses echoed down the hall. "You know, pal, Mr. Edgeworth's got a decent heart, even if he doesn't want to admit it."

Jack's eyes widened in surprise. "You know, I think that's the least stupid thing I've heard you say all day, detective. I'd give you a free beer for that if I hadn't already given you one."

Gumshoe merely chuckled in response. "And if it wasn't for that first beer, I'd be rather mad at you right now for saying that." he paused and looked upward, apparently lost in thought. "Of course, it's isn't too hard to notice; I haven't seen Edgeworth that... edgy in a long while."

Jack nodded. "I noticed. Today's also the first day I've seen Payne drink alcohol in two years. And if I'm not mistaken, both of them are tying themselves in knots over the same thing."

"What?" asked Gumshoe, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Not what, detective... Who." Noticing Gumshoe's blank expression, Jack sighed and slid the copy of the _District City Revealer_ so he could again see the cover picture.

"Hairy Butz?" asked Gumshoe slowly.

Jack sighed; Gumshoe had obviously already forgotten he was looking at a picture of Phoenix Wright. "Yeah, him," he muttered, smiling. Impulsively, Jack turned the paper back around and poked Wright's mislabeled picture deftly. "I'm going to be keeping my eye on you, Mr. Wright..." he whispered, chuckling softly.

* * *

**A/N: **As I mentioned last chapter, here lies the end of Episode I, the story arc that runs parallel to GS1 Case 1. For those of you confused by my talk of Episodes ("Ep" in the chapter menu) and part X/Ys, it's actually rather simple. Just as an actual Ace Attorney game is divided into Cases, which are subdivided into Parts (Day 1 Investigation Part 1, Final Day Trial Part 2, etc.), my story is divided into story-arcs called Episodes, which are subdivided into numbered Parts as well. I admit that my future modifications to the plot will likely make this system more confusing than it was in the Court Records version, so if I'm not being clear enough with the timing of my story, please tell me. 

The next part of the story, which occurs between Cases 1 and 2 of the game, is the part that I wish to rework the most, so it will be a while before I post it on this site. If I can get it to where I want it, however, it should improve some of the elements of the fanfic dramatically.

Feedback, be it glorious praise or wanton ranting at my OC-obsessed self, will be appreciated; I need to understand what the audience likes in order to keep delivering it. Additionally, I know that grammatical and stylistic errors spot my writing here and there, so I am currently in need of a beta to help me eliminate such flaws. Prospective betas can contact me through e-mail or send me a PM on the Court Records Forums if interested.

-DSL


	4. Ep X Part 1, 1: Wine and Spirits

**Note: **Phoenix Wright / Gyakuten Saiban, its settings, plot points, and characters, are all the property of Capcom, and are being used here without permission. This chapter takes place two days after GS1 Case 1; Spoilers for that case and (once more) a small bit of GS3 Case 1.

**Episode "X": Storm's a Brewing**

_Part 1-1: Wine and Spirits_

**August 5****th****, 2016, 7:45 PM**

"I don't care how much evidence you think there is to support it, _Donny_. You are wrong, wrong, wrong!" yelled Jack, his eyebrows narrowing in anger.

"Well, Jack, I'm sorry you feel that way. I'm not going to abandon my core beliefs just to make _you_ happy." Donny swayed slightly in his barstool before taking another sip of his fifth beer. "Besides, my 'evidence' is no worse than yours." He turned to the man on his right. "Isn't that right, Mr. P?"

Winston Payne jumped at the sudden question; some of his two-cherry Shirley Temple spilled over the lip of his cocktail glass and pooled on the bar counter. "I-I don't really have an opinion on that issue, Mr. Docket," he stammered.

Donny let out an exaggerated sigh. "Never were one to take sides, were you, Mr. P? All right..." Donny leaned forward on the bar and cocked his head to the side so he could see all the way down the counter. "What about you, Mr. H?!" he yelled, his speech slurring.

Robert Hammond merely frowned and harrumphed loudly. "I believe your little argument is immature and pointless." He took a small sip of his premium beer before adding, "I refuse to drag myself down to your level by getting involved."

"You're hopeless, Mr. H!" yelled Donny, slamming a fist against the table. He turned back to Jack and gave him a red-eyed stare. "I still don't see why you can't see my side of things for once."

"Because it's absolutely and utterly wrong, Donny," replied Jack, stressing each syllable as he if he were speaking to a small child. "The Evil Magistrate is absolutely _not _a stronger warrior than the Steel Samurai! He just hides behind his minions so it appears that way!"

"Excuse me?" asked Donny obnoxiously. "The magistrate does not HIDE behind his minions. He uses them STRATEGICALLY so that he can gather his strength for when he meets the Steel Samurai face-to-face!"

"Whatever," muttered Jack, crossing his arms. "It doesn't really matter anyway; the Samurai will win in the end."

Donny raised an eyebrow. "Why are you so sure of that?"

Jack sighed and shook his head. "Donny, it's a show made for CHILDREN. If the Magistrate wins in the end, it'd be like telling all the little kids across the country that evil always triumphs over good! It's quite obvious that the Samurai will win in the end."

Donny's eyebrow receded further. "And when, exactly, is this magical 'end' you keep mentioning?"

"When the people making the show decide to end the series, you dolt," said Jack matter-of-factly.

"Dolt?! What gives you the right to call me a dolt, you-"

"L-let's talk about something else!" squealed Payne suddenly. "Like... like... the weather! How about that weather, eh?"

"Weather...?" asked Jack incredulously. "Really, Mr. Payne, you could have thought of something a little less... generic." Jack paused and placed a finger against his chin in thought. "That reminds me, I'd better check the Weather Station. It was rather cloudy when I came in this afternoon, and there's no way I can figure out the weather by looking through that excuse for a window." He pointed at the Golden Gavel's only window, a 4 foot by 1 foot pane of frosty glass embedded at the top of the wall to his right. The original clear window had supposedly been replaced for 'security reasons', but Jack knew that the real reason was so no passersby would notice that there was a tavern tucked away in a government building. Jack gave the white rectangle a final shake of his head before reaching for his remote and turning the television on a weather station.

"...a very long, very powerful line of severe thunderstorms approaching District City. As you can see on this radar map, this is a very impressive system, and a severe thunderstorm warning has been issued for the entire District City Metropolitan Area..." said a dark-haired man with a baritone voice as he pointed at a large blob of color on the regional map behind him.

Jack let out a low whistle. "Damn, look at all those reds and yellows! Looks like we're about to go for a bumpy ride..."

"I don't think I'm going to be driving home today," said Payne softly. "Thunderstorms are hard enough for me to deal with without me trying to drive through them."

Despite being closest to the TV, Hammond seemed completely unfazed. "I have been through many storms before in my life. There's no need for me to change my plans because of a little water falling from the sky."

"Speak for yourself," muttered Payne under his breath.

"I don't care about the rain," slurred Donny. "Don't care about it ONE bit. If the city floods, it'll flood. Who cares?"

"I'd care," said Jack bluntly. "In case you're forgetting, I run my business underground."

"You run an underground business?" shouted Donny, his eyes suddenly wide. "Why, Jack, I didn't know you sold drugs! If you weren't my friend, you'd be _so_ busted, you know that?"

Jack smacked his head in frustration. "By underground business, I meant here; the _Gavel_. A business that happens to be _under the ground_. If the roads outside the building flood I'm not going to have a very good time, believe you me."

From his seat at the end of the bar, Hammond called, "Do you really think _anyone_ could get away with selling drugs here? This is a _government building_, Mr. Docket! Half the legal system comes here on a weekly basis! Seriously, you must be quite the imbecile to accuse your... _friend _of such rubbish!"

Donny's cheeks flushed deeply; his expression became downcast and sullen. "Sorry Jack. Not thinking straight," he muttered, before letting out a heavy sigh. "Gettin' drunk's a lot better at the clubs; at least there you have a chance at meeting a pretty girl or two."

"Well, you chose to drink here, and drink heavily to boot. Now deal with it," said Jack in a no-nonsense tone.

Donny raised a finger and was about to say something else when the door opened and the familiar chime rang throughout the bar. Jack's eyes widened slightly at the sight of a rather shapely young woman making her way towards the bar counter. Jack's customers turned around and looked at her as well; after all, her open jacket and short skirt would have fit in better at one of Donny's favorite clubs than in a courtroom. She stopped walking just a few feet from the bar, shook several loose strands of long brown hair out of her face, and smiled. "Hello, everyone. Mind if I join you?" she asked, her voice somewhat forceful despite its sweetness.

Jack's face broke into a wide grin. "Of course you can, Ms. Fey! Haven't seen you for over two months now; thought you might have disappeared on me!"

Mia's eyes widened slightly before she realized Jack was only kidding. "I haven't disappeared; I've just had more work than usual," she stated.

"It's understandable. Have a seat, Ms. Fey." Jack waved an arm to indicate the various remaining stools.

Mia nodded respectfully and walked towards the open barstool next to Payne. However, before she could sit down Payne suddenly stuck his right arm out to the side, blocking her.

"Oh, is this seat saved, Mr. Payne?" she asked.

"Why... yes! Yes it is!" stammered Payne in a voice even squeakier than normal. "I... I need it to... um... sit my drink down!" He quickly grabbed his cocktail glass and sat it in the center of the barstool. "It gives me more arm room, you know?" He placed his arms on the counter and dragged them back and forth to prove his point.

"Oh... okay," said Mia, her voice clearly stating the fact she didn't believe him. She took a step towards the empty seat beside Payne's glass before she noticed Robert Hammond was occupying the other adjacent stool.

"Ms. Fey," said Hammond, his voice too stiff to be polite.

"Mr. Hammond," she returned, her voice hardening slightly. Mia shook her head as if to clear some thoughts before turning around and finally settling in the empty barstool next to Donny. "Sorry about that, Jake," she said, her voice warm again. "I guess I looked a bit lost there, didn't I?"

Jack sighed softly; Mia always did have trouble remembering his name. Of course, he couldn't exactly blame her; a skilled defense attorney had to deal with many people on a day-to-day basis. "It's okay, it happens to the best of us. Heck, one time I came in here and sat on a barstool for five minutes before I realized I was on the wrong side of the counter!"

Mia started to laugh quietly; various... parts of her body moved upward and downward.

Jack managed to ignore such motions (with some difficulty, of course) and instead shot Mia a glare. "Hey, I didn't become a bartender just to be openly mocked!" he exclaimed loudly, placing a hand to his heart.

"Sorry," said Mia softly.

Jack remained stony-faced for a split-second before laughing out loud. "Its okay, it's okay, I kid, I kid," he exclaimed, waving his hand back and forth. "All the mocking and counter-mocking is half the fun around here. Now what'll you have?"

"Some wine would be nice."

"Say no more, Ms. Fey!" Jack spun around on one foot, strode over to his little wine rack, and started gazing at the various bottles thoughtfully and examined one of them. "Mr. Edgeworth had this red wine a couple of days ago while you were in the courtroom. He said it had a bit of an aftertaste issue, but the price is right."

"I'll pass," said Mia thoughtfully. "Do you have anything else?"

"Let me see..." I got a decent chardonnay here. It's a bit pricier, but I guarantee its better, too."

"I'll have that, then."

"Excellent!" And with that, Jack grabbed a wineglass and filled it to the proper level with the yellowish-white liquid. He examined the wine at eye level for just a moment before gently setting it in front of Mia. "Is it to your liking?" he asked.

Mia grabbed the glass nimbly and took a small sip. "It's quite good," she said, smiling.

"Thank you for saying so. Of course, I shouldn't really take the credit; all I did was pour the stuff into a glass. Praise is praise, I guess..."

**"BANG!"** Robert Hammond smashed his left fist against the bar. "Can I get another beer over here, damn it?!"

Jack sighed and rolled his eyes. "Such a happy fellow," he muttered sarcastically before making his way to the other end of the bar.

"Sorry for the wait, Mr. Hammond," said Jack levelly as he grabbed another mug and filled it with premium beer. "It's not too often I have this many customers in here at once... if I get three more people I'll actually have to sit someone at a table!" He chuckled dryly.

"Indeed, seven people can not fit onto six barstools," sneered Hammond. "But I did not come here to discuss the most basic facts of mathematics, Mr. Keeper."

For once, Jack managed to keep his sarcasm to himself. "Of course, Mr. Hammond," he said evenly. "Here you are," he added as he placed the beer mug before him.

"Thank you," growled Hammond. He took a sip and sighed deeply. "It's still quite good."

"I'm glad you think that."

"I'm sure you are." Hammond paused and took another sip before adding, "Would you be so kind as to put the news channel on for me? I tire of these lunatic weather people and their claims that the sky is falling."

"I don't think the news people and their claims of global Armageddon are much better," said Jack morosely, before retrieving his TV remote and changing the channel all the same. Hammond turned away from Jack and began to watch the TV intently.

Having satisfied the grumpy DA, Jack decided it would be best to check on his other two customers before returning to the pleasant one. "You want another drink, Mr. Payne?" he asked politely.

Payne jumped at the sound of Jack's voice; his mind was clearly elsewhere. "No... Jack, no thank you," he stammered. "Er, fine I am. Soon I will be leaving, you think?"

Jack gave Payne an odd look; usually a customer had to consume a decent amount of alcohol before his sentence structure started deteriorating. "You okay, Mr. Payne?" he asked.

Payne jumped again at the question; a bead of sweat was running down the side of his face. "No... There is nothing that is wrong, currently." He turned his head in the direction of Mia and Donny. "Thinking, just thinking, you understand?"

Jack decided not to pry. "I think I understand." He went over to Donny. "Hey, Don? You need anything?"

Donny gave Jack a bleary-eyed stare. "Nope, nothing _you _can do for me," he said jovially, before turning to look at Mia. "I like your necklace," he told her, his face contorted into a large grin.

Mia's eyes widened slightly and she forced her lips into a small smile; any sober person would have realized she was only being polite. "I'm glad you think that, Mr. Docket," she said, placing specific emphasis on the use of his surname.

Of course, Donny was too inebriated to notice such hints. "Of course you're glad, Ms. Mia," he said arrogantly. "You know, I think I've seen that necklace before."

"Really? Where?" Mia's voice remained forcefully polite.

"I think it was the internet or TV or something like that." He raised a finger and pointed at the necklace's emblem. "That there's one of them evil voodoo seashells, isn't it?"

For a brief moment, Mia's eyes bulged open and her eyebrows joined together as her mouth fell open in shock. Regaining her composure, she shook her head and hissed, "I assure you it is nothing of the sort."

Jack shuddered at the cold in Mia's voice; Donny had somehow managed to insult her greatly. Jack sighed and was about to berate Donny when...

**"BANG!" **Payne slammed a fifty-dollar bill against the counter. He looked even tenser than he had before; his hands were starting to shake and his lips were starting to twitch. "Is this enough to cover me and h-him?" he asked, pointing a shaky finger at Donny.

Jack picked up the bill and examined it. "It's more than enough," he exclaimed as he shook off an intense blast of déjà vu stemming from the events of just two days before.

"Good. Keep it," he said politely, before standing and grabbing Donny by the arm. "C'mon, Mr. Docket," he half-squeaked, half-spat. "It's time for us to go on a taxi ride." Surprisingly, Donny didn't resist, merely waving goodbye with his free hand as Payne dragged him out the Gavel's door.

"I'm sorry about Donny," said Jack softly after the door had shut. "He never was too good with the ladies, especially after he's gone through the motions one time too many." He mimed taking a swig from a beer mug.

"He really should cut back," replied Mia, fiddling with the spiral stone on her necklace absently.

"I'll make sure to tell him you said that next time he comes in here. Donny's a decent listener when he's got his head on straight." Jack placed his hands on either side of his head and wrenched it into place to prove his point.

Mia smiled and laughed. "You always did know how to make a person feel better, Jake."

Again, Jack decided it'd be better to ignore the mispronunciation of his name. "I don't know about that, Ms. Fey." Jack leaned forward and quietly added, "I mean... Mr. Hammond over there doesn't really need his ego inflated. And there's nothing I can do about Mr. Payne if he decides to get into one of his deep blue funks."

Mia pursed her lips and nodded. "He did seem to be acting rather strange, didn't he? Perhaps I should ask him if anything's wrong... that, and thank him for splitting a taxi with Donny, of course."

Jack chuckled softly. "I don't know if that'd help him too much, Ms. Fey. I'm fairly sure that _you _are the person that gets him all tied in knots."

"Me?" asked Mia, surprised.

"Yes, you."

"Why?"

"You know why," said Jack calmly. "Three words: State. Versus. Wright." He spit out each word separately and tallied them on his fingers. "I might not have been tending bar back then, but Payne's told me about that particular case _many_ times these last three years. He didn't seem _too _worried about going against your firm in court a couple of days ago, but that was before he realized his rookie opponent happened to be the defendant from that old trial."

"Ah," said Mia, her eyes widening in comprehension. "Well, Mr. Payne should have known better than to assume he won before the trial ended," she said sensibly. "I'm surprised he still feels bitter over that, though..."

"Payne's always had a bit of a thing for grudges. He claims he lost all his skill that day, and a lot of people here at the Office back him up."

"Really? And what do you think about that, Jake?" A hint of coldness had returned to her voice.

"Personally, I think he impaled himself on his own sword and never quite managed to get himself back into the game. I don't know if he'll ever come close to realizing that, though," said Jack thoughtfully. "He probably feels better just pinning the blame for all his problems on you."

"A lot of people get through life placing their misfortunes on the shoulders of others," said Mia wisely. "Of course, they're too busy making themselves feel better to think about what the scapegoats are going through." She sighed and started toying with the stone on her necklace once again.

Jack sighed too; somehow he'd managed to make Mia feel worse. Racking his mind for something that wasn't depressing, he told her, "Of course, Mr. Payne takes that concept even farther than most."

"What do you mean?"

Jack leaned in close and lowered his voice to a whisper. "He claims you made him lose his hair. Honestly, how silly is that?"

Mia blinked a couple times before stammering, "Very silly. Very silly, indeed." Jack noticed that she was suddenly rather interested in her empty wineglass.

Of course, that also allowed him to notice that the wineglass was empty. "I'm sorry," he stammered suddenly. "Do you want me to refill that?"

"No thank you, Jake."

"Do you want something different? Tea? Cola? Water?"

"No; none of that," said Mia, smiling. "However, I do have something to show you."

"Really? Is it something I'll like?"

"I believe so." Mia suddenly reached under the bar and sat a large object on the counter in front of her. Jack noticed it was a bronze statue of a man resting his chin against his hand, apparently in deep deliberation.

Having seen a picture of the object on TV just two days before, Jack recognized the statue for what it was right away. "Ahhh! It's that clock! That statue-y clock! The Thinker!" he exclaimed brightly.

Mia's eyes widened slightly. "I'm surprised you know it's a clock."

"Of course I know it's a clock! I saw it on the television just two days ago!" Jack pointed to the TV, which was still receiving Robert Hammond's undivided attention. "Plus, Mr. Payne told me all about it, too," he added sheepishly. "May I?" he asked, moving his hands closer to the sculpture.

"Of course," said Mia, smiling at Jack's fascination.

"Great!" Jack grabbed the clock and moved it closer so he could see it from all angles. "Now, if that cheeky Mr. Payne was telling me the truth, I should take my thumb like this (Jack placed his thumb against the statue's neck) and go like this!" He flipped his thumb upward and the statue's head fell backwards on a tiny hinge. And then...

"I think it's... 8:25," said the clock in a high-pitched, halting voice.

"Damn, it actually works!" said Jack, clapping his hands in glee. "Bit of a weird voice though. I figured it'd be more computerized or something."

"Oh, that's Harry Butz's voice," explained Mia simply. "He made this clock, you know."

"Of course, of course," muttered Jack as he lifted the clock to his eye and looked in the hole where the head had been. He was met with the sight of gears and a computer chip, taking up most of the space within the hollow object. He made a thoughtful noise.

"What is it?"

"What? Oh... I was just thinking... this clock reminds me of something."

"What?" Mia asked, her voice dripping with curiosity.

"It reminds me of an old-fashioned decorative liquor bottle. You see, a long time ago, some people used to hide their booze by making it look like something unobtrusive, like a statue of a war hero or something. It let them hide their drinks in plain sight!" Jack slid the clock away from him and tilted it so Mia could see inside. "All you have to do is get rid of this clockwork, see, and I bet you'd be able to put all kinds of stuff in here!"

Mia's eyes widened. "You know, that's actually a good idea!" she exclaimed, grabbing the clock for herself and peering into it intently.

Jack smirked. "You were expecting me to come up with a bad idea?"

"Oh no, it's not that..."

Jack started to laugh out loud. "Relax, relax, I know you mean well. Thanks for showing me your clock there." He lowered his voice and added, "You didn't steal it from the evidence lockers, right?"

Again, Mia looked shocked. "No, I would _never_ do that! Harry made two of these, one for Ms. Cindy Stone, and one for himself. He gave me this one as a gift after he was found innocent," she babbled.

"I understand," said Jack cheerfully. "I didn't think you would've done such a thing; you're one of the most cautious people I know." Jack fell silent and thought for a moment before blurting, "But why'd he give _you_ the statue? It was Mr. Wright that got him found innocent!"

Mia let out a laugh. "I know. But Mr. Butz is a lot like your friend Mr. Docket. He's a nice person most of the time, but he simply doesn't possess a lot of common sense... especially when women are involved." She sighed. "Still, you cannot deny that it's a lovely gift."

"It's damn nice," said Jack matter-of-factly. "And it's not that big of a deal. After all, Mr. Wright's the one he's paying, right?"

Mia merely stared for a moment before laughing again. "Well, in a perfect world, Nick would be getting paid, but it seems that Mr. Butz only has money for his significant others. I'm quite glad Nick and Harry are friends; otherwise he might be rather... upset."

Jack thought about Mia's statement before responding, "Sounds like Mr. Wright, or Nick as you just called him, is a pretty nice guy."

"Well, of course he is!" said Mia brightly. "You wouldn't expect me to hire anyone just because they passed the bar exam. Some people have personality traits I simply can not tolerate."

**"BANG!" **The bar counter shook as Robert Hammond smashed his fist into the wood as hard as he could. Jack and Mia turned to stare at him.

"The District City Coppers are first in the divisional Wild Card race! Isn't that just wonderful?!"

"Er, yeah," said Jack, wondering why Hammond thought the performance of the local baseball team gave him the right to damage his furniture.

Mia merely nodded before turning back to Jack. "You see what I mean?" she asked in a low voice.

"Indeed!" replied Jack, not bothering with keeping his voice down. He paused for a moment before adding, "So, tell me some more about Phoenix. He sounds damn interesting."

"I don't know. I mean, what more is there to tell?" asked Mia, crossing her arms.

"You've been seeing this guy day-in and day-out. Surely there're some little things you can tell me."

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know. What's his favorite color?"

"Blue. He wears a blue suit every day. He must have a dozen of them!"

_Now we're getting somewhere, _thought Jack craftily. "Okay, Ms. Fey, how old is he?"

"Twenty-four. It was a couple of years before he decided to become a lawyer."

"That's okay; it took me a while to figure out what I wanted to do with my life too. Now tell me, what's his voice like? If Mr. Payne's taught me anything, it's that the tone of speech you use is very important in the courtroom."

"It's lower than Mr. Payne's, that's for sure. He has a very... powerful speaking voice. Full of confidence."

"Good! Now what's with the hair? Does he always wear it like that?"

"As long as I've known him. He doesn't think it looks better any other way."

"What color are his eyes? I couldn't really tell looking at the TV over there."

"Brown. Dark brown."

"And his nose? Do you think it's too big for his face?"

"His nose is perfectly fine for his face."

"And his lips?"

"They're also perfect for his face."

"Think he's a good kisser?"

"He's probably a very good kiss..." Mia trailed off and flushed as she realized what she said.

Jack flashed a big smile; his string of rapid-fire questions had worked perfectly. "Got you, Ms. Fey!" he said jovially.

Mia shook her head and glared at Jack. "That wasn't very nice, Mr. Keeper," she whispered, the disapproval in her tone somewhat offset by her still red face.

"Sorry if I embarrassed you. When you hang around lawyers long enough, you pick up their tricks at keeping, er, 'witnesses' off guard." Jack paused and toyed with a lock of his red hair. "So... are you ever going to... er, _press_ with this kissing theory of yours?"

Mia sighed. "What Nick needs most right now is a teacher; a mentor. He's definitely talented... I mean, even I didn't win my first case." Mia's paused and her eyes grew glassy for a moment before she continued, "Once he's gained some... experience, I might be able to consider Nick more than a friend."

Jack nodded sagely, somewhat surprised that the usually professional Mia Fey admitted as much as she had. "I understand. It's rather hard to jump into something like that headfirst." Jack stopped for a second and gave Mia a softer smile. "Remember, if anything... er, _difficult _happens on that front, I'm always here to listen," he said cheerfully.

"Thank you," said Mia, also smiling. "Of course, I can hardly worry too much about that right now. For all the time we've spent together, Nick hardly knows anything about me." Yet again, she started manipulating the emblem around her neck. "I don't even think I ever even told him my sister's name," she mused.

"Ah, yes," said Jack thoughtfully. "How is young Mary doing, anyway?"

Mia's eyes narrowed. "Her name is _Maya._ Honestly, Jake, can't you take the time to learn people's names?"

"Er, yeah. Sorry," said Jack as he picked up an empty cocktail glass and wondered if he should guzzle one of his own creations. "So, how is young _Maya_ doing, then?"

"She's actually doing quite well. She just moved into her own apartment, you know."

"Ah. I'm surprised she's living by herself already; I didn't leave my parent's place until I was twenty-one!" Jack placed a finger against his chin in thought. "I also figured she'd rather live with you than be on her own."

"I wish she could, but that would distract her from her training."

"Training?" Jack was confused for a moment before he remembered all the tidbits and factoids about the occult that Mia had told him over the years. "Oh, _that _kind of training. I still don't really get into that stuff very deeply," he said evenly.

"Really?"

"Well, all the bigwigs around here always dismiss spirit mediums as bunk. Kind of hard to ignore the majority."

"I assure you it's not bunk," hissed Mia.

Jack took a step back and waved his hands frantically. "I'm not saying it is! Just telling you how things are around here. Believe me, I _know_ better than to go with the flow all the time."

Mia sighed deeply. "I understand, Jake. It's just... difficult... sometimes, to deal with the fact that people can take such a large part of my life and dismiss it as 'bunk' or 'nonsense'. Even you try to cut that part of me away just because it makes me seem... different from everyone else."

Jack sighed and shook his head; he seemed to be making things worse without even trying. "I'm really sorry, Ms. Fey," he said solemnly. "You've got to understand... most of the time I'm able to wrap my head around everything my customers are talking about... when I can't understand, I guess I tend to put it out of mind."

Mia nodded slowly before allowing her face to return to its typical small smile. "It's all right, Jake," she said cordially. "At least you're willing to admit you don't understand. The Fey Family's been in such poor standing with the legal community these past few years... sometimes I wonder if my law firm would not have been pushed to the side entirely if I not had so many successes three years back."

Jack nodded, and then frowned; such depressing conversation was pushing unhappier thoughts to the forefront of his mind. "That reminds me..." he muttered quietly, "How has Lana been doing?"

Mia's eyes widened for a moment before she looked upward and frowned. "You know, Jake, it's still quite a shame that you have to ask me that... you knew her before I did, after all."

Jack let out an embittered noise. "Yes, but you I both know that a schoolyard friendship isn't worth much... It wasn't enough for the esteemed Chief Prosecutor to avoid cutting me and Donny out of her life, at the very least."

Mia returned her gaze to Jack; her eyes were clearly sad as well. "I still don't understand how such a promotion could have changed her so," she said slowly. "Sometimes, I wish that I didn't have so many cases these days... I'd actually have the time to figure out why she started acting so horrible."

"It's all right," Jack said neutrally. "I might actually be somewhat lucky, not having to see her everyday and witness how different she is... Donny still sees her all the time, and he can't even say her name anymore. If only..."

**"BANG!" **The bar shook as Hammond again smashed his fist against the counter as loudly as he could. Jack sighed and turned to look at him once more.

"Breaking News!" he shouted, gesturing to the same words on the television screen. "Turn it up, Mr. Keeper!"

Jack rolled his eyes. "The things I do to keep my customers happy," he muttered as he grabbed the remote and turned the volume up.

"Good evening viewers, I'm Lily Jumper." The newswoman's pale face looked even more fatigued than usual; Jack idly wondered how many hours a day the network forced her to read breaking news stories. "It is with great sadness that we at DNN have just received word of the suicide death of State Congressman Richard Richardson." A picture of Richardson, a man in his sixties with slicked-back gray hair and a toothbrush moustache, appeared in the upper-right corner of the screen.

"Damn..." muttered Jack. "That guy's been in the government as long as I can remember."

"Richardson's body was found in his Center City apartment just under an hour ago; reports state that sometime today the congressman shot himself in the head with a .44 magnum revolver that he purchased only several days ago." Jumper paused and looked off-camera, by her irritated motions it was obvious that she was speaking to someone just beyond the edge of the screen. Several seconds passed before she returned her attention to the camera.

"We have just received an audio file released in response to this tragic, tragic, event. It is a recording of Mrs. Rita Richardson, Congressman Richardson's wife, apparently taken just moments after she learned of her husband's death!" Jumper's eyes gleamed for just an instant before the TV cut away to a red screen with the words "RICHARDSON SUICIDE" prominently featured at the top. The silence was quickly broken by a frantic female voice, the words of whom appeared on the screen as soon as they were spoken.

"Suicide? How could this have happened! I mean, just this morning I was making him coffee and he was telling me how much he loved me! This isn't happening! This can't be happening! _Why is this happening?!_" The frantic voice was replaced by several extremely loud, deafening sobs; even without a picture it was rather obvious that Mrs. Richardson was going through a rather intense emotional breakdown.

Jack absently grabbed a plastic swizzle stick out of a jar and stuffed it his mouth so his teeth wouldn't grind together. "Good-for-nothing sensationalists..." he growled.

"Indeed, Mr. Richardson's death is being viewed as quite the tragedy," said Jumper, the sadness in her voice compromised by the sparkle in her eyes. "While we have not yet received an official statement from the government regarding their stance on the departed congressman or when they will begin the process of choosing a successor, we have received a written statement from Mr. Redd White, CEO of Bluecorp, one of Richardson's largest corporate campaign contributors." A picture of a rather fruity-looking man with pinkish-purple hair appeared in the spot over Jumper's left shoulder; Jack recognized it from several large billboards and bus advertisements he'd seen throughout the city.

"In his official statement to the press, Mr. White said the following..." Jumper's eyes flicked upward to meet a teleprompter and grew wide, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. In an incredulous voice she quoted, "'It is with many... sorrowtations that I mourn the passing of Governmentman Robertson. He was one of the best... governmenters I've ever blessed with the honor of my support. It's... abso-posi-lutely shameful that he was unable to handle the... stressifications of holding a job so dependant on how the votermen viewed him. I hope that no other governmentman will allow... him or her personage to be forcified into such a position." Jumper paused and blinked a few times before adding, "That's quite an... interesting statement from Mr. White."

_Interesting doesn't cover the half of it, lady, _thought Jack.

"We will be releasing updates on Congressman Richardson's suicide death throughout the night as new information continues to reach the DNN news desk. Now, I turn things over to Donald Doomsayer, who has the latest information on the powerful thunderstorms entering District City..."

"Bah! More weather nonsense! Turn the set off, Mr. Keeper!" yelled Hammond sneeringly.

Jack nodded resignedly before grabbing the remote and turning off the TV in one fluid motion. "There, it's off now. Is that okay with you, Ms. Fey?" Hearing no response, Jack spun around to look Mia in the face. "Ms. Fey?"

Mia's normally serene eyes were wide and staring; her mouth was slightly open in shock. Her hands were gripping the bar counter so tightly that the knuckles were starting to turn white. Absently, Jack realized he could hear the sound of rain outside; the loud television had drowned it out before. The window flashed brighter than before; a rumble of thunder echoed through the bar. Despite the noise, Mia didn't even react in the slightest. _This isn't just sadness. Something's wrong here, _Jack thought.

Not knowing what else to do, Jack reached a hand across the bar and snapped his fingers in front of Mia's face. Jack smiled as her eyes suddenly focused upon the source of the sudden noise. "Huh? What?"

"You seemed to be going into a trance, there," said Jack gently. _Of course, _he thought absently, _that might not be such an odd occurrence for the women of the Fey family. _Shaking his head, he asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," said Mia stiffly. Behind her, the window flashed again, brighter this time. Another rumble of thunder came a second later.

"Are you sure?" asked Jack, keeping his voice low and calm. "You seemed a bit... out of it."

"Well, I assure you I'm alright." Mia took a sip from her wineglass despite the fact her glass had been empty for the better part of an hour. "Will you look at that, I finished my drink," she muttered dully as she sat the glass back down. She reached into her jacket and extracted a bill. "For the wine," she explained as she let it fall to the table. "I need to leave now."

Jack scratched his head; Mia was acting so... _strange _that he was starting to get scared. "You're leaving now? Listen to the weather... it's pouring out there!" Another burst of lightning illuminated the small bar window; the temporary light source cast strange shadows throughout the barroom floor. "See?"

"I understand the risks, Mr. Keeper. I wish I could remain here but I have quite a lot of research to do." And with that, Mia grabbed her statue and confidently strode towards the bar exit across the room. She'd made it to the seldom used tables in the middle of the room when...

A blinding flash of lightning; a cataclysmic rumble of thunder. A series of echoing pops; flickering lights fading into darkness. A gasp, a series of thumps, and then...

Jack found himself in total darkness, with nothing breaking the silence save the haunted ringing of his own deafened ears.

* * *

Okay... there's another part down, and I manage to add another major canon character into the fray. Now then, within this chapter are three different things that might make you readers raise a few eyebrows, so allow me to address them here. 

**Episode "X", Part 1-1? What kind of crazy trick are you trying to pull here: **I probably shouldn't make my numbering system so confusing, but I figured using a literal Episode number here would make things worse. You see, in my court-records draft, "Storm's a Brewing" is merely Episode II, directly following Episode I. In this revised version, however, I am going to be adding an additional plot-line to this in-between Case 1 and 2 part of the story, and then spreading the Episode along the length of the fanfiction so that more of it will be explained after each canon case parallel is completed. Because it will be cropping up here and there between the various cases, I thought it would be better to call it Episode "X" (that's the letter, not the number ten) than Episode "II"

Old readers that fear change, try not to worry too much: The storyline I'm adding in was actually my original plan for this Episode, which I abandoned for a somewhat less complex plot. The new Episode "X" will actually include both the old and new plot details fused together.

Also, the reason it's called Episode "X" Part 1-1 and not simply Episode "X" Part 1 is because the Part I'm putting before Case 2 is two chapters long. This first chapter isn't enough to create suspense, and the two chapters don't jive very well when crammed onto one page.

**Phoenix/Mia ship? Where the hell did that come from: **Although this is a gen fic at heart, I will occasionally add in an echo or two of romance... when I think it doesn't violate the impressions of canon. The reason I included that banter about Mia liking Phoenix was that there were obvious hints about such things at the end of GS1-1. While this ship has less validity when looking at the PW trilogy as a whole, when viewing GS1 as a standalone game (it was the only one out in English when I wrote this in August 2005, after all) I didn't have a lot of** first-hand **knowledge of Young Phoenix's behavior or (especially) Diego Aramando to counter this, so the ship looked fairly canonical at the time.

Also, people that dislike this ship, note that there's (sadly) not enough time for it to become a big deal, so don't worry about having to read much about it in future updates.

**What's this I hear about Lana?: **This is one of the first major changes I made if you compare this to the court records version; in there I hid the fact that there was any connections between Jack and Lana until ten chapters later, and then revealed it as melodramatically as I could. Here, I put it up front.

Now, before you panic about this most Sue-thorish of plot moves, allow me to reassure you that there will be **_no serious ships involving the main character of my story._ **Romance is not my specialty, and I believe that making a ship with Jack Keeper and a canon character would be nothing more than senseless ego-stroking. Got it?

As for the actual connection... Jack, Donny, and Lana were a trio of friends in secondary school. This runs parallel to Phoenix being friends with Larry and Edgeworth in primary school; I like to create such parallels as if Jack were almost a Phoenix in an alternate universe. Obviously, you can see which friend's the "Larry" and which friend's the "Edgeworth" in Jack's back-story. Why did I give Lana such a role? To be blunt... it's so that, for Jack, Case 5 is more emotional than Case 4. That's all.

Hopefully, I didn't scare you away with those oddities; if nothing else, my colossal Case 2 Story will be quite the humdinger. Reviews are always welcome; there might be a weird thing in my story that I didn't bother to explain, after all. I'm also still looking for a good beta, if anyone will have me.

-DSL


	5. Ep X Part 1, 2: Tending in the Dark

**Note: **Phoenix Wright / Gyakuten Saiban, its settings, plot points, and characters, are all the property of Capcom, and are being used here without permission. This chapter takes place two days after GS1 Case 1; Spoilers for... Well, actually, there really aren't any significant spoilers in this chapter. Go figure.**  
**

**Episode "X": Storm's a Brewing**

_Part 1-2: Tending in the Dark_

**August 5****th****, 2016, 9:02 PM**

_What the hell just happened?_ Jack thought weakly as he blinked in an attempt to see the hand he was waving in front of his own face. Realizing such an exercise was pointless; he decided it would be best to figure out how the other people in the bar were doing. "Ms. Fey? Mr. Hammond? You two all right?" he called uncertainly.

"Couldn't be better," sneered Hammond grouchily. "Don't mind me; I'm just admiring your lovely décor. I see you've chosen a lot of _dark _colors."

Jack sighed; Hammond sure could be a stick in the mud when things didn't go his way. Hearing no response from Mia, he hollered, "Ms. Fey? Are you okay?" Jack grimaced at how stupid his voice sounded when his sentences rhymed.

"I'm okay, Jake," said Mia, her voice still stiffer than normal. "It's just... I appear to have fallen over something. Whatever it is, it's still stuck to my leg. I don't know if I will be able to stand up properly."

"Oh! Let me help you up then!" exclaimed Jack as he felt his way along the counter, stopping when he reached the short wooden side door that separated the bar area from the rest of the tavern. With some difficulty he got it open and headed towards the source of Mia's voice. Unfortunately, he'd only made it part of the way there before the tip of his foot smashed into something rather solid. "Damn it!" he yelled.

"What happened, Jake?" asked Mia, her voice once again concerned.

"I stubbed my toe on a chair," hissed Jack. "It's not pushed in all the way." Wincing, Jack sat on the offending piece of furniture and rubbed at his shoe furiously. "That's what I get for not wearing steel-toed boots," he muttered, before adding, "Wouldn't be so bad if I could bloody see where I was going!"

In response, a dim blue glow erupted from the end of the room. Surprised, Jack looked up to see Hammond using his cell phone as a source of light. He lifted himself off his barstool and approached Jack, waving the cell phone back and forth so he could see where he was going.

"Trying to rescue the damsel in distress, Mr. Keeper? How nauseatingly typical." Even though Hammond's face was shrouded in darkness, Jack was sure that he was smiling rather nastily.

"Well, I'm not exactly used to navigating my own bar in the dark," muttered Jack as he shot Hammond a glare.

"Indeed." Hammond then walked over to Mia, who was sitting on the ground. He pulled a chair away from the nearby round table and helped Mia onto it.

"Thank you, Mr. Hammond." Jack noticed that Mia's voice sounded rather reluctant.

"You are welcome, Ms. Fey," muttered Hammond in a similar tone. He than placed his hands on the floor and eased himself down with a thump. "You have a piece of string around your ankle," he said matter-of-factly. He quickly removed it and added, "It appears to be attached to this... uh... thing." Hammond held up a round object.

"It appears to be an old balloon," said Mia incredulously as Hammond got back to his feet. "Jake, do you know what this is?"

Jack was glad the lawyers couldn't see him blush in the darkness. "Er, yeah... I was wondering where the last one of those went," he muttered sagely. Since the pain in his toe had subsided, he got to his feet, gingerly walked across the room, and sat in the chair to the left of Mia. "We might as well all sit at the same table. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Hammond?" he asked innocently.

"Er, yes," muttered Hammond as he threw the old smiley balloon aside and sat across from Jack in the chair at Mia's right. He sat his cell phone at the center of the table so that it illuminated everyone's face with an eerie blue glow.

Feeling somewhat awkward without the shelter of the bar counter, Jack muttered, "Can't believe the storm got so bad so quickly." He stared at the Gavel's tiny window, now a dim panel that occasionally flashed and groaned with lightning and thunder.

"What I do not understand is how the lights went out in the first place," said Mia thoughtfully. "This is a very important building..." she paused to brush aside a stray lock of hair. "Shouldn't it have a backup generator?"

Jack scratched his head absently. "I can explain that. You see, the backup generator hasn't been working for several days now. I was hoping they would've fixed it by now, but I guess they didn't."

"Oh? And how do you know this?"

"Donny's been complaining about it ever since the damn thing broke," said Jack levelly. "Understandable, considering that the only natural light in the old parking garage comes from the car entrances, and that's nowhere near enough to monitor the place properly."

"I see," said Mia softly, before sighing and looking towards the window. "I didn't think the storm would be quite this bad. I hope Maya and Nick are okay..."

"I'm sure they'll be all right," said Jack cheerfully. "Why don't you try giving them a call on your cell?"

"I left my cellular phone in my car," said Mia, her expression downcast. "I didn't realize I'd forgotten it until the lights went out."

"Okay, than use Mr. Hammond's," said Jack. He reached across the table and slid Hammond's phone towards Mia with the same finesse he would give a fresh mug of beer.

"Hey!" said Hammond, slamming a fist against the table. "Why don't you let her use _your _cell phone instead of giving away _mine_ without asking?!"

"No can do, Mr. Hammond," said Jack firmly. "You see... I don't own a cell phone."

"Don't own a cell phone?! How can you not own a cell phone in this day and age?!" asked Hammond, his voice rising in annoyance.

"Don't have much need for one," said Jack bluntly. "Most of my friends are customers, so I see them face to face on a regular basis. If I need to talk with my family or someone else when I'm at home, I use my home phone. If I need to talk with them while I'm here, I use the bar phone."

Hammond looked, if anything, angrier. "Then why don't you let her use the bar phone?!" he growled.

Jack glanced at Mia and noticed she was starting to look upset; he shot her a smile before turning to Hammond and politely telling him, "I would have, but the bar phone doesn't work when the power's cut off. It's one of those oddball cordless phones, and it needs electricity to work properly." Anticipating Hammond's next question, Jack quickly added, "And I know this because someone accidentally cut the power to this part of the building a couple months back. I was alone at the time and tried to call the maintenance office, but the phone was dead. I had to lock the bar up and get a security guard's attention in order to get the power back."

Jack smiled at Hammond, who finally looked placated. "Fine. I apologize for my... tactlessness." He nodded at Mia. "You may use my phone, Ms. Fey."

Mia smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Hammond. I knew you would make the right decision as long as you had all of the information."

Hammond's eyes widened; he obviously wasn't expecting a compliment. "Humph," he muttered, crossing his arms.

As Mia began to slowly dial a phone number, Jack leaned towards Hammond and whispered, "You don't have to hide from us, Robbie. Mia and I both know you're nothing but a big softy underneath all that gruff charm of yours."

Jack could see Hammond hunch his shoulders despite the lack of light in the room. "I am not soft!" he hissed. "And my name isn't 'Robbie'! I ought to-"

**"BANG! BANG! BANG!"** The sound of loud knocking echoed through the bar, silencing Hammond's tirade.

"Now who would be trying to visit at this hour?" said Jack thoughtfully. He carefully hoisted himself to his feet and slowly made his way to the bar door, making sure not to smash his foot into any more chairs along the way.

**"BANG! BANG! BANG!"** Whoever it was on the other side of the door, they didn't have much patience.

"Now, now, there's no need to repeat yourself!" Jack yelled. Having reached the bar door, he threw it open confidently and found himself blinded by an intense light.

"Is this the Golden Gavel?" The voice was smooth, confident, and most definitely male.

"Yes! This is the Gavel! For God's sake, get that... thing out of my face!" exclaimed Jack as he turned his head and shut his eyes.

"Oh... I'm terribly sorry," said the man as he lowered his flashlight. "Never know who you're going to meet in the dark."

Blinking frantically in order to banish the little dancing stars from the front of his vision, Jack saw that he was standing in front a kind looking man with a boyish face and well-trimmed beard. Looking further, Jack saw that he was wearing a light-colored suit and hat that, while somewhat flamboyant, were hardly out of place when compared to the rest of his usual clientele. Putting out a hand, Jack stated, "I don't believe I've ever seen you before. Name's Jack Keeper; I tend bar here at the Golden Gavel." As usual, a note of pride seeped into his voice when he mentioned that fact.

The man looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding and pulling jack into a firm handshake. "Detective Bruce Goodman," he said.

Jack let go of the detective's hand and looked upward in thought. "I know who you are," he muttered darkly. "You oversaw the big case two years ago, didn't you?"

Goodman took a significant pause. "I like to think all of my cases are big ones," he eventually stated, chuckling. "However, I'm not here to discuss the ins and outs of my job history."

"I understand," muttered Jack, dissatisfied at the brush-off. "Pleased to meet you, by the way," he added awkwardly. "What are you doing around here on a miserable night such as this?"

Goodman allowed himself a small smile. "It was just my luck that I had to confer with a prosecutor about a case on this night of all nights. I was just about ready to leave in spite of the weather when the electricity failed."

Jack nodded. "I see. Does that mean you're trying to ride out the storm too? You know, I'd be happy to let you in-"

Goodman cut off Jack by raising his hand. "No, no, I can't do that. You see, I'm helping out with guard duty."

"Guard duty?"

"Yes, guard duty. You see, the Prosecutor's Office has never suffered a prolonged blackout without the availability of a backup generator before. For this reason, Chief Skye ordered the entire building to go on lockdown in case anyone tries to break in. She's ordered all the police staff stuck in the building to help make sure everything's on the up and up," Goodman explained confidently.

Jack was surprised to say the least. "Total lockdown... Lana's being rather thorough," he muttered as he twirled a lock of long hair.

"Well, she's rather careful when it comes to situations such as these." Jack knew from the tone of his voice that there was a hidden meaning behind those words. Before he could say anything about it, however, Goodman adjusted his hat and asked, "Are you the only person here right now?"

Jack chuckled lightly. "Nope. I'm entertaining a pair of defense attorneys, Mia Fey and Robert Hammond. Have you met them before?"

"No, but we might have shared a case or two in common," Goodman mused absently. "If you'll excuse me..." He reached into his suit and extracted a small phone. Despite the relative dimness of the flashlight, Jack recognized it as one of those walkie-talkie type phones that the TV was always trumpeting as the greatest invention since the gin and tonic. Intrigued, Jack watched as Goodman placed the speaker to his mouth and pressed several buttons.

"Goodman here," he stated. "I'm at the... er, Gavel and I've got me three people just sitting in the dark. What do you want me to do?"

"You said you were at the Gavel, pal?" Jack's eyes widened as he recognized Detective Gumshoe's hearty voice, slightly distorted by static. "The Guards have got all the other floors cleared; we've got everyone in the building into three groups, each with at least one armed guard or member of the police department protecting them. Right now, I'm with the Chief and Mr. Edgeworth, and everything's as right as rain!" Jack smiled as phone-Gumshoe chuckled.

"I've got the rest of the floor cleared. Do you want me to bring my three up?"

Goodman's phone fell silent, and then... "Nah. Since everyone else is covered, I think it would be best if you stay with them and keep an eye on the group. I don't want anything happening to my pal Jack anytime soon!"

Goodman laughed softly. "I understand, Gumshoe. I'll keep the place under tight control. Goodman out." He pressed a button on the phone and the static ceased.

"Well?" asked Jack, feigning curiosity so the detective wouldn't realize he'd been listening in.

Goodman adjusted his hat and smiled. "It looks like I'm in charge of bar security until the power comes back on. Doesn't sound like it should be too hard of a job."

Jack nodded vigorously. "I'm pretty sure I can put up with you for a little while," he said, smirking. Childishly, he spun around on one foot, the wood floor squeaking beneath his shoe. "Follow me, Detective," he said eagerly.

Goodman silently trailed Jack and shined the flashlight in front of him. Jack was thankful for this, as it allowed him to make the twenty-five foot journey without sacrificing another toe to the Almighty Chair Gods.

Hammond and Mia looked up simultaneously at the sight of Goodman's flashlight; it was obviously far brighter than the cell phone that again sat in the middle of the table. Jack offered the defense attorneys a wan smile.

"The security team here doesn't think we're old enough to behave ourselves without supervision," he began solemnly. "As such, I'd like to introduce you to our official babysitter, Detective Goodman." He indicated Goodman with a wave of his hand.

"Hello, detective," greeted Mia, her voice warm as usual.

Hammond merely shrugged.

"Hello to you too, Ms. Fey; Mr. Hammond," said Goodman politely, before adding, "But I'm not exactly here to baby-sit. The whole building is on lockdown. You see, the Chief's afraid the blackout offers criminals an all-too perfect opportunity to force their way in here."

"Really?" asked Mia, her eyes widening. "That's rather... _extreme _for such a well-guarded building, isn't it?" Jack smiled inwardly at the fact that Mia made the same observation he'd made just moments ago.

Goodman shrugged. "Chief Skye is very thorough when it comes to criminal threats."

"Of course. I hope Maya is okay," Mia muttered, a disheartened look on her face. After Jack let out a confused noise, she hastily added, "I couldn't reach her on the phone."

"I'm sure she'll be fine. What about Mr. Wright?"

The corners of Mia's mouth twitched upward. "He answered, but he wasn't very happy. Apparently he had just fallen asleep when I made the call."

"If I had a quarter for every time that's happened to me, I'd be a rather wealthy man," interjected Goodman thoughtfully.

"So would I, detective," growled Hammond. "Of course, I'm a rather wealthy man even without that additional compensation."

Jack rolled his eyes. "You're so full of... yourself, Mr. Hammond. Don't ever change."

Hammond frowned. "I am what I am, Mr. Keeper, and there's nothing you can do about it." He paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. "However, you _can_ do something about the nice detective behind you standing at attention as if he were one of those foolish Buckingham Palace Guards." Hammond waved his hand in an elaborate circle. "Offer him a seat, perhaps?"

"Huh?" Jack looked over his shoulder at Goodman, who was indeed standing rather stiffly. "Oh," he muttered, coloring slightly. "Sorry about that, detective. Why don't you sit here?" He gestured at the table's two remaining seats.

"Thank you, barkeep," said Goodman politely. He walked past Jack and sat in the empty seat on Hammond's right.

Jack smiled and was about to take a seat himself when his stomach gave an ominous rumble. He chuckled to himself; it'd been a couple of hours since he eaten his obligatory dinner sandwich. "It appears that my tummy is empty and in need of filling," he announced matter-of-factly. "I might as well get us some food if we're going to be stuck here a while. Does anyone have any objections to salty bar snacks and carbonated beverages?"

Mia and Hammond merely shook their heads no, while Goodman looked thoughtful and said, "Fine, as long as you don't spike my drink with anything alcoholic. I never once drank the stuff, and I have no intention to start now."

Jack nodded; while teetotalers never made good bar customers, he had to admire the detective for possessing such firm convictions. "I understand, detective. I wasn't going to get the alcohol out anyway, in case something big really _does_ go down."

"Thank you," said Goodman sagely. "It's good to know that there are bartenders with common sense."

"You're welcome. Oh, and speaking of common sense..."

"Yes?"

"Can I borrow that flashlight? If I try getting the food in the dark I'll probably just end up knocking all the ingredients off the shelves or something like that."

Goodman chuckled. "Of course you can," he stated, handing him the powerful light source with a smile.

Jack again nodded in thanks; holding the light in front of him, he made his way back to the little wooden door that cordoned the bar area away from the reach of mere mortals. Opening it with little difficulty, he strode over to one of the floor cabinets and grabbed two large glass bowls, which he gently sat on the bar counter, one within the other. He absently started to whistle to himself as he opened a snack cupboard and grabbed a bag of potato chips along with a bag of pretzels. As he sat the bags inside the bowls, he noted that his customers were talking somewhat louder than they had before, though they were still too quiet for him to distinguish individual words. Shrugging, he quickly opened the barroom fridge and snatched a bottle of cola before too much cold air could escape into the bar room; if the blackout lasted for too much longer many of the ingredients within would start to spoil. Putting that unhappy thought out of his mind, he kneeled down and grabbed four beer mugs out from under the bar and sat them on the counter. Jack then stopped to admire his handiwork.

_An ordinary man would have to make two trips to get all this stuff back to the table, _he thought, before his face broke into a wide smile. _Fortunately, **I'm** __no ordinary man._

As if he'd been planning such a stunt all along, Jack took Goodman's flashlight and wedged it between his head and his neck as if it were a violin. After making sure the light was pointing directly in front of him, he picked up the bowls with his left hand and wedged them between his right arm and his body. After shifting the weight of the bowls and bags to a proper balance, he grabbed the bottle of cola and wedged it between his left arm and his body. Shuddering at the cold sensation in his left armpit, he lowered himself to one knee and grabbed all of the beer mugs with his free left hand; the glasses clinked against each other as he quickly closed his fingers. Smirking, he kicked open the door to the bar and made his way back to his beloved customers. As he slowly walked across the room, making sure not to trip over anything, stumble into anything, or drop anything, Jack realized with a sigh that Hammond had pulled Mia into what was undoubtedly a rather long-standing argument.

"I still don't get how you can call your client a 'shifty-eyed creep-o' and not feel the slightest bit of guilt!" exclaimed Mia, her voice loud with disgust.

"There is no reason for me to feel guilty for stating the truth! That man's eyes twitched like there was no tomorrow. I couldn't talk to him face-to-face without getting chills!" retorted Hammond in a tone even gravellier than normal.

"So? He could have had a medical condition! How can you be so insensitive?"

Goodman waved a hand, trying to get Hammond and Mia's attention. "Now, now, there's no reason to-"

"Sensitivity is for the weak!" yelled Hammond, slamming a fist against the table and drowning out the rest of Goodman's plea. "I got the man a not guilty verdict, and that is _all_ that matters."

"What about trust? What about caring?" snipped Mia.

Hammond chuckled. "What of them? Do they get you evidence? No. Do they sway the judge? No. Such sentiments are nothing more than a waste of time and energy."

By then, Jack had made his way to the table, but Hammond and Mia were too busy bickering to notice. After carefully sitting down the bowls, mugs, and bottle, he grabbed the flashlight and straightened out his neck with a pop. He sighed at the sight of the attorneys arguing back and forth while Detective Goodman merely stared helplessly, unable to get either person's attention. As the argument turned more and more personal, Jack decided he'd had enough.

**"Hold it!" **he yelled, slamming his palms against the table. Jack's customers jumped and stared at him.

"That's better," said Jack levelly. He allowed himself an overdramatic sigh. "I turn my back on you for five minutes and you're squabbling with each other like there's no tomorrow! It's enough to give a good bartender a headache!" Jack rubbed at the side of his head for dramatic effect.

While Mia had the grace to look embarrassed, Hammond merely sniffed and muttered, "It's not like _I_ was the one to get all... skittish."

"No, but you were definitely the one to act all high and mighty, weren't you?" asked Jack. Hammond merely turned his head and looked in another direction.

Jack was in the middle of elaborately shaking his head in shame when he got another idea. "Well, if none of you can talk without getting into kooky arguments, I'll have to do all of the talking for our group." Jack smirked and opened the bottle of cola. Turning his head slightly to the left, he asked, "Jack, would you like some cola?"

Turning his head to the right, he answered his own question. "Yes, I would like some cola, Jack. Thank you for asking."

"You're welcome Jack. Would Jack like a lot or a little?"

"Jack would like a lot, seeing as how he might be dealing with these people for quite a while. Don't you agree, Jack?"

"Why yes I do, Jack. That's a very valid point." With that Jack poured himself a mug of soda and took a big swig. He looked up and smiled at the sight of Mia, Hammond, and even Goodman staring at him as if he'd just escaped the loony bin. "Is there something wrong?" he asked innocently.

"I believe that is the question we were about to ask you," said Goodman.

"Really? I never would have guessed." Jack shook his head vigorously, as if shaking off a bug. "Seriously though, if you can't have a decent conversation without tearing into each other, I'll have to be in charge of the entertainment for tonight."

"You don't say..." muttered Hammond skeptically. "What're you going to do, Mr. Keeper? Tell us a story?"

Instead of yelling at Hammond's sarcasm, Jack merely leaned back in his chair. A thoughtful expression appeared on his face. "You know... that doesn't sound like a bad idea!"

"What?" Hammond's bushy eyebrows were knitting in confusion.

"I said it doesn't sound like a bad idea," repeated Jack matter-of-factly. "Back when I was in Junior Scout Camp, me and the other boys used to sit around a campfire all the time, trying to scare the shi-, er, sanity out of each other by telling scary stories and whatnot! It was great fun!"

"Well that's nice... but what it have to do with this stupid little room we're stuck in?" asked Hammond, slamming a fist against the table in disgust.

"First of all, don't slam the little table; you'll knock over my drink!" Jack took a swig of cola to illustrate his point. "Second, it has plenty to do with this room, which I ask that you don't call stupid!" Jack took a calming breath, and continued. "As for similarities, I believe it's quite obvious that were in the dark. We only have one major source of light." He moved the flashlight in little circles, before adding, "I believe it's also quite obvious that being stuck in a small, dark room is making us all rather... unsettled. Don't you agree, Mr. Hammond?"

Hammond looked stunned for a moment. "Yes, I definitely agree, Mr. Keeper," he stated, his voice abnormally dull.

"Since we're on the same page, then, I might as well do something silly like tell you all a scary story. I'm not a great storyteller, but it's better than being at each other's throats, right?"

"I guess."

"What about you two?" Jack asked, looking back and forth to indicate Mia and Goodman.

"I see nothing wrong with it," said Goodman thoughtfully. "My buddies and I used to tell fish tales all the time back in legal school. It helped take all our minds off the hard work."

"I think it's a great idea," added Mia, smiling. "When I was younger, I did a similar rit- er, thing myself."

Jack smiled; it was nice to hear some positive opinions for a change. "Excellent! Now all I need is the flashlight and a minute or two to think. Mr. Hammond?"

"What is it?"

"You handle the snacks." Jack slid all of the food items across the table with a smile.

Hammond groaned loudly, but nevertheless started to fill the bowls and pass out the glasses. Jack leaned back in his chair and made silly patterns on the ceiling with Goodman's flashlight.

_Let's see, _thought Jack idly. _I need a story, probably a good scary one. Maybe something about ghosts...?_ Jack glanced at Mia, who smiled. The stone on her necklace shined ominously in the dim light. _Nope, that might be a bit of a sensitive topic. _

Jack paused and scratched the right side of his head; it was rather difficult to come up with a story on cue. _I guess I'll need characters. _He glanced at the other occupants of the room. _Me and these nutty customers of mine will do just fine for that. I also need a setting... _

The image of a car driving down a desert highway flashed through Jack's mind. His eyebrows knitted in confusion; he didn't usually get vivid thoughts so suddenly! _Ah, well, _he thought, _better start yammering and see where this leads me. _

Jack cleared his throat; his customers turned to look at him.

"I think I got me a decent idea. Hopefully I won't get too lost trying to work my way through this."

And so Jack began, blissfully unaware that he would soon be looking back upon his story and seeing nothing more than a cruel harbinger of fate.

**TO BE CONTINUED...  
**

* * *

Hmmm... ominous much? 

So, in this rendition, that will be my temporary stopping point for Episode "X". The second part, entailing the story, will occur after Case 2 (though I guess you can dig it up on the court-records version if you're really desperate), and the third part, in which I add in my original story idea, will occur after Case 3. Having it spread out that way will be kind of nice, because I'll be able to write in additional Mia moments without bringing in that whole summoning thing. Jack still doesn't truly believe in it, after all.

I'm sure you can see the (obvious) connection between the three customers right now, though, so even without reading ahead I'm sure you can get a glimpse of what sort of things will occur in the later parts of Episode "X".

I'm going to try revising and posting the rest of the story I've written so far with (unusually) decent speed; I have a strange feeling that more people will notice this fic after they see how crazy-long it truly is. -shifty eyes- Anyway, that means that next to come up is Episode II (CR version Episode III), "A Toast to the Sisters", which analyzes GS1 Case 2 at a level of detail many have called insane. -shifty eyes again- Still, my CR fans liked it, so I'm sure new readers will too.

Reviews are nice from viewers old and new; still wondering if anyone's willing to beta this thing. I'd be willing to beta works in return, by the way.

-DSL


	6. Ep II Part 1: Death of an Innocent

**Note: **Phoenix Wright / Gyakuten Saiban, its settings, plot points, and characters, are all the property of Capcom, and are being used here without permission. This chapter takes place after the murder of GS1 Case 2; Spoilers for that case and references to GS1-1, GS3-1, and GS3-4.

Also, a hearty thank you to my new beta, EvilMarshmallow13; this is the first chapter in which she has helped me out by fixing my most foolishly foolish of typos and contextual mistakes.

**Episode II: A Toast to the Sisters**

_Part 1: Death of an Innocent_

**September 5****th****, 2016, 9:15 PM**

"Yep... this is definitely a good night," Jack told himself as he frantically searched through his big shelf of cocktail ingredients. "Now... where are the ones I need?"

After a few seconds of vigorous searching, Jack's eyes fell upon the critical ingredients: a tiny yellow bottle and a large container of red liquid.

"Ah-hah!" he exclaimed cunningly as he grabbed one of the items with each hand. He placed them on an empty stretch of the bar counter, approached the bar refrigerator, and opened it with a jerk.

Thankfully, there was no need for searching this time; the bottle of dark brown liquid sat prominently on the top shelf. Jack grabbed that too and placed it beside the other ingredients with a thump.

"And now I just need something to mix it all together in." Jack quickly opened the cabinet above the sink and extracted one of his most prized possessions, an oversized screw-top cocktail mixer. Jack lovingly twisted off the large silver lid and gently sat it beside his other ingredients.

"And now for the ice," said Jack softly as he placed the cocktail glass beneath the lever embedded in his freezer. While an icemaker was rather unconventional for a barroom setting, Jack found it far simpler than trying to pry individual cubes out of the bucket hidden inside the freezer itself. Jack smiled wanly at the familiar plinking noise of ice cube hitting metal. After Jack deemed the number of ice cubes adequate, he turned about, placed the bottom of the shaker on the counter, and turned to his ingredients.

"Now then," he muttered softly. "I'll need the perfect balance if I want the perfect flavor."

Jack then picked up the little yellow bottle and gently unscrewed the lid, which was actually the top of an eyedropper. Jack squeezed the little rubber bulb, extracted a bit of vivid yellow liquid, carefully suspended the dropper above the shaker and counted out twenty drops. Jack quickly replaced the eyedropper lid and sat the little bottle aside before reaching for the larger red bottle.

"Better not skimp on this stuff, knowing those two," muttered Jack knowledgably as he spared a glance at the two customers in mind. Tongue poking out in concentration, Jack unscrewed the bottle cap and slowly titled the bottle so that the end was suspended above the cocktail mixer.

"Wait for it..."

An extremely thick red liquid poured into the cocktail mixer, creating a strange cascade effect as it slowly seeped its way down the matrix of crystal clear ice cubes.

Having made this drink many times before, Jack quickly uprighted the bottle immediately before the amount of red liquid in the shaker became too great. Jack quickly screwed the lid back on the red container and reached for the largest bottle, the one filled with dark brown liquid.

"And, now for the most important ingredient of them all," said Jack as he twisted off the lid and poured a liberal amount into the shaker, stopping only when the deep brown solution was only a couple of centimeters from the top. Once satisfied with the drink level, Jack reached under the bar and grabbed an extra long swizzle stick; for this type of drink, its use would be essential.

Placing his left hand on the cocktail shaker to keep it steady, Jack stuck the end of the swizzle stick inside the oversized container and began to stir. He idly hummed to himself as he watched the drink swirl about, gradually growing colder from its continuous exposure to the ice. As he continued to move the stick in a circle, Jack absently wondered if the ice cubes in the drink were starting to get dizzy.

After his left-hand fingers went numb from the coldness of the silver metal, Jack let go of the shaker, brought up two medium-sized glasses from under the bar, and sat them down a short distance away from one another. Jack then took the shaker and unscrewed away the top part of its lid, revealing a built-in strainer. Smirking at the sheer simplicity of the shaker's design, Jack placed an equal amount of deep brown liquid in each glass.

"Got to add one more thing before I'm finished," said JackHe quickly returned to his shelf of cocktail ingredients and grabbed a short, fat jar filled nearly to the top with maraschino cherries. As he had with the ingredients before, Jack sat the jar on the bar counter, twisted off the **lid**, counted out four cherries, and placed two in each glass. He then resealed the lid and returned the cherries to their spot on the shelf. Having finished the grunt work, Jack finally placed a glass to his face and quietly admired the evenness of the liquid.

"Looks pure to me," he said proudly. His task complete, Jack picked up the glasses, walked to the other end of the bar, and placed them in front of his two customers.

"Two medium diet colas, flavored with both lemon juice and cherry syrup, stirred, not shaken, and served in glasses with two cherries apiece. Will that be all for now?"

"I believe that's it," said Winston Payne confidently as he dragged a glass closer to his side of the bar counter. He took a small sip and made an appreciative noise. "Good as always, Jack."

"Thanks, Mr. Payne." Jack then turned his head and added, "What about you, Detective? Anything else?"

Bruce Goodman vigorously shook his head in the negative, causing his hat to fall across his eyes. "No, Mr. Keeper, this should be plenty," he said as he impatiently returned it to its original angle and took a sip of his drink. "Hey... this stuff isn't bad!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening in mild surprise.

"I know!" said Payne excitedly. "That's why I ordered it for you!" He leaned back slightly and smiled. "We non-drinking types have to stick together, you know."

Goodman let out a soft chuckle. "Of course. So, what were you saying about your case?"

Jack smirked as Payne started to give the specifics of the case he'd won that morning; a rather simple trial in which a pedestrian had been struck by a hit-and-run vehicle. Having heard the story once already before the Detective's arrival, Jack walked to the other end of the bar, where his third customer was watching a orchestra play on TV as he absently stirred his tea with a spoon. "Do you want me to brew you some more, Mr. Edgeworth?" Jack asked cheerfully.

Frowning, Miles Edgeworth tore his eyes away from the television and looked Jack in the face. "No thank you, Jack. Hopefully by the time I finish this one I'll be in a state to drive myself home."

"I see," said Jack, nodding. Edgeworth had had two glasses of wine when he'd entered the Gavel nearly two hours ago, complaining of overwork. Since then, he'd been watching public television and guzzling tea in an attempt to sober up. The porcelain mug sitting before him was his fourth; Jack absently wondered how he could drink so much without a single trip to the Gavel's little restroom. Sighing, Jack turned and walked back to Goodman and Payne. Payne was now in the middle of his courtroom tale.

"So, anyway, despite the relative simplicity of the victim's testimony, Mr. Washer decided to cross-examine it anyway," said Payne, chuckling. "It was rather pathetic; most of the things he asked had already been addressed by the detective just a few minutes beforehand."

"Maybe this Washer guy was just trying to be through," said Goodman thoughtfully.

Upon hearing this, Jack simply had to interrupt. "I highly doubt that, Detective."

Goodman turned to Jack and tilted his head skeptically. "Why do you say that, Mr. Keeper?"

Jack laughed. "With all due respect, Detective, you've probably never had to deal with Upton Washer before. I have. He's an okay guy, but he's terrible at listening," said Jack levelly. "He probably wasn't paying much attention to the detective's testimony."

"I see," said Goodman, frowning. "So the cross-examination was unsuccessful, then?"

"Not quite," spat Payne. He paused and took a small sip of cola. "You see, the poor woman didn't really get a good look at the vehicle that hit her; she only knew it was a green car. Washer managed to stumble upon this fact after holding up the testimony a good dozen times."

"Even a stopped watch is right twice a day," said Goodman thoughtfully. "How'd you manage to win the case, then? Was there another witness?"

"Yes and no," said Payne cryptically. "While there weren't any other _people_ there to see the crime, there was something else... something much better."

"I see..." muttered Goodman, before cocking his head in confusion. "Wait, what?"

"It was rather funny... Mr. Washer looked so proud of himself when I told him there were no more testimonies." Payne paused, plucked a cherry out of his drink, and ate it with relish. "That's when I told him about my secret weapon."

"Weapon?"

"Yes, weapon! You see, when the defendant struck the victim with his car, he also ran through a red traffic light. Whenever that particular red-light is run, a picture is taken of the offending vehicle."

Goodman nodded exuberantly; the answer to his question had been made rather plain. "So the camera took a picture of the defendant's car?"

"Precisely!" exclaimed Payne, smiling. Absently, he placed his hand near his brow and starting moving it up and down as if there were an invisible spring growing out of his forehead. "Mr. Washer didn't smile after he realized the camera system took a picture of the offending vehicle... a picture so accurate that the license plate number was easily readable!"

"Ah! So that was the deciding factor?"

"Yep! Once the defendant saw he'd been caught red-handed, he broke down and confessed then and there. And there was nothing that cheeky DA could do about it!"

"I see!" said Goodman, nodding once more. After taking a sip of his drink, he began playing with his hat, a thoughtful expression upon his face. "There's only one thing I don't quite understand..." he began.

"Really? What is it?" asked Payne, his voice dripping with skepticism.

"If you had that fancy picture from the start of the trial... why didn't you show it to the court early on? I don't see any reason the perpetrator would've withheld his confession if he saw the evidence sooner. Had you done that, the victim wouldn't even have had to take the stand!"

Payne looked stunned; he leaned back in his bar stool and hiccupped in shock. Wiping his brow, he stammered, "Er, well... you see..."

"What is it?" asked Goodman, smiling as he threw Payne's words back into his face.

"It... er... well... it was kind of fun, crushing Mr. Washer like that. He might not be a rookie, but that man really doesn't know how to argue a case."

"That's it? That doesn't sound like a very good reason. Something could've come up that wouldn't have made your case appear as solid as it did."

Payne adjusted his glasses and looked down at his drink. "Er... well... maybe. But... you see... that's not all."

"Not all? What else is left?" asked Goodman.

Looking downward, Payne muttered, "Well... you see, the victim really wanted to testify before the court. She was rather badly injured... she's currently using a wheelchair... and she wanted to tell the judge exactly what happened to her so he'd consider it in his decision. I... er... figured it would only be fair to give her the opportunity."

Goodman nodded, slowly this time, and smiled. "Okay... _that_ sounds like a good reason. If the victim wants to testify, she should." Goodman adjusted his hat smartly and added, "Even if she didn't know a lot of the answers."

Payne nodded solemnly, a smile returning to his face. "Anyway, that DNN station's going to put on a story about the case in a couple of minutes; one of the reporters took a statement from me and everything!" Payne took a sip of his cola and added, "That's why I decided to visit Jack so late tonight."

Jack let out a small laugh. "I'm flattered, really. Let me see if I can get Edgeworth to let me change the channel."

Having laid out his latest goal, Jack looked over at Edgeworth, who was still watching the television with rapt interest. "Mr. Edgeworth?" called Jack.

Edgeworth paid no attention to the sound of his name; his eyes were still glued to the TV set.

"Mr. Edgeworth?" Jack called again, louder this time.

Edgeworth still didn't turn his head; he raised his cup and sipped his tea as if Jack wasn't even there.

Somewhat peeved at being ignored, Jack decided to take the only remaining logical action. He curled the fingers of his right hand into a fist, walked over to Edgeworth's end of the bar, raised his arm high... and smashed it into the polished word surface of the bar counter. "Mr. Edgeworth!" barked Jack.

Edgeworth shook his head and turned to face Jack; he didn't appear the slightest bit worried at his bartender's sudden change in demeanor. "I'm sorry, Jack. Did you call me?" he asked innocently.

Realizing that yelling more would only make him appear stupid, Jack ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Yes, Mr. Edgeworth. I called you," he muttered tiredly. "May I please change the channel to the news station?"

Edgeworth raised an eyebrow. "Why should I do that, Mr. Keeper?" he asked disdainfully.

"There's going to be a news story about the case Mr. Payne won in a couple of minutes. He and Detective Goodman want to watch it."

Edgeworth merely let out an annoyed huff. "Honestly, Mr. Keeper, if _I _were to try and watch every news story about every one of _my _victories, I'd make myself sick." He then turned to face Payne, who was sending him a rather disturbing approximation of a friendly grin. Frowning, he added, "However, I guess I can stomach the news for a few minutes."

"Excellent!" said Jack, clapping his hands. With that potential crisis safely averted, Jack approached the television and changed the station to DNN.

"...Victor Ventnor, head of optometry at the District City Medical Institute, expresses confidence that the VISOR artificial vision apparatus will be ready for public use in eighteen to twenty-four months," said a dapper-looking man with short black hair and a goatee.

"Artificial vision? I'll believe it when I see it," said Edgeworth with a smirk.

"And, in celebrity news, we here at DNN have received a rather disturbing bit of information regarding Will Powers, the star of the new hit children's action series, 'The Steel Samurai'. One of DNN's most prolific Studio-town insiders has made the claim that the true reason Mr. Powers continually refuses to make public appearances is that he suffers from a debilitating disease that leaves him completely without body hair. If this information is true, we extend our greatest sympathies to Mr. Powers, who may be proving to the world that you can still be famous even if you are nothing more than a hairless weirdo."

"Hey! I resent that!" yelled Winston Payne, his already scratchy voice breaking with indignation.

Jack merely shook his head and sighed as he mentally cursed the news channels for wasting airtime with such irrelevant rubbish.

"...and next, a string of '30 second stories'! Today's quirky little news reports include a dog that starts fires, a woman who makes fine art completely out of rubber bands, and a crazy court case where the camera makes the conviction clear-cut. All this is coming up... after the break."

The newsroom faded away; in its place, a montage of scantily-clad women and overpowered pickup trucks flickered across the screen in an attempt to make everyday people buy one product or another. Tearing his eyes away from the sheer ridiculousness of the advertisement, Jack saw that Goodman was attempting to console Winston Payne, who was more than a bit upset at the fact that the news station was treating his victory as little more than a low-quality joke.

"You know what they say, Mr. Payne, any publicity is good publicity," said Goodman, absently adjusting the tilt of his hat.

Payne dismissed Goodman's thought with a quick wave of the hand. His eyebrows twitching, he yelled, "Yeah, right! I... I never would have given them a statement if I'd known they would treat the case... like... like this!" He paused for a moment to catch his breath, and then added, "You'd better get me some more diet cola, Jack; I'm going to need it to stomach this!"

Smiling, Jack shot Payne a mock salute and barked, "Yes sir, General Payne sir!" He started gathering the ingredients for Mr. Payne's drink immediately; the last thing he needed was more squeaky rants grating against his eardrums.

As Jack sat his various bottles and mixers on an empty stretch of the bar counter, Edgeworth turned in the direction of Payne and shot him a contemptuous glare. "Frankly, Mr. Payne, I believe you should be thankful for the opportunities you get; there are many lawyers in this district that never even get to handle a case big enough for television exposure. For example, it's been over five years since Prosecutor Oldbag..."

A loud fanfare burst from the television speakers; the words "Breaking News" flashed across the screen in angry red letters. Edgeworth ended his little lecture and turned to face the screen.

"Damn it!" shouted Payne abruptly. "Why does something have to come up now, of all times?"

"Don't know," said Jack. "Whatever it is, it probably doesn't matter to us, though." With that, Jack returned to adding drops of lemon juice to his cocktail shaker.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlem**e**n, I'm Lily Jumper."

Sighing, Jack spared a glance at the news channel's breaking news reporter. As he'd expected, her supposedly TV-worthy face appeared very pale and artificial.

"I interrupt this broadcast of 'The Simple News with Sherman Shuman' to bring you word of a horrific murder that has recently occurred in the East Hill business sector of District City."

_Well, at least it isn't some vague warning of impending destruction in a strange and distant land,_ thought Jack dully as he resealed the bottle of lemon juice and reached for the cherry syrup.

"While the actual specifics of the murder have not yet been released, we do know that the victim has been identified as Mia Fey, a young defense attorney well-known in District City legal circles for her talents in the courtroom."

**"THUNK!" **Jack dropped the bottle of cherry syrup; thick red liquid spurted out of the bottle and pooled onto the bar counter. Ignoring the spill and the gasps of surprise around him, Jack dazedly thought, _I didn't just hear that, I didn't just hear that..._

But when he looked at the screen and saw a picture of Mia's face above the reporter's left shoulder, he knew his ears had not been deceiving him. Numbly, he took a step back in order to hear the rest of Jumper's words.

"Ms. Fey's body was found in her very own law office just over half an hour ago by a detective of the District City Police Department. While the exact cause of her death has not been released to the public, the Department has clearly stated that it was an unmistakable, deliberate homicide." Jumper paused and shook her head, causing several strands of thick dark hair to fall into her heavily made-up face. Blowing them away impatiently, she continued, "A single suspect has been arrested at the scene and implicated with the crime of Ms. Fey's murder, but neither the suspect's name nor his or her motive has been released yet. All of DNN's various reporters, myself included, will release more information on this tragic, tragic, case as it becomes available."

Jumper paused again and turned her head; it was obvious by her frantic facial expressions that she was being spoken to by someone off-screen. Frowning, she returned her gaze to the camera and stated, "As the bottom of the hour has just passed, DNN will return to its next program, 'Yelling about Politics with Old Billy McGee' already in progress."

After another fanfare, the television fell silent, only to be abruptly replaced with the gruff sounds of an elderly man ranting about the corruption of one political party or another. Jack heard none of it. Instead, the few details of Mia's murder were repeating in his head; a broken record of total and utter shock.

_This is... impossible,_ he thought. _Who would want to kill Mia Fey? Why would __**anyone**__ want to kill Mia Fey?_

Jack managed to focus his eyes long enough to notice the huge puddle of cherry syrup on the bar counter before him. Absently, he uprighted the large red bottle, set it aside, and went to the cupboard under the sink for a large rag.

_Honestly, she's one of the nicest people I know. _Jack moved the rag in little circles, allowing it to gradually absorb the deep-red liquid before it permanently stained his countertop. _Then again, she's sniffed out a lot of guilty people over the years in the course of defending clients. Of course, most of those people are still in jail... or worse._

Noticing that his rag was too saturated to absorb a considerable part of the spill, Jack took it to the sink and rinsed it under the water before returning to his task.

_Then again, many of those guilty parties had families... Perhaps a disgruntled relative took their revenge, _mused Jack as he absently cleaned up the rest of the mess.

After the bar counter was completely spotless, Jack stopped and stared at his rag; pure white fabric stained with syrup the deep red color of blood. There was a strange beauty in the swirling patterns...

"Jack?"

At the sound of his name, Jack slowly pulled himself out of his reverie. "Huh?" he said, looking around wildly.

"Over here, Jack," said Goodman in a no-nonsense tone. Next to him, Payne had pressed his head against the bar counter; he appeared to be taking a nap. Glancing in the opposite direction, Jack noted that Edgeworth had stopped watching television in order to engage in an intense staring contest with his cup of tea. Sighing, Jack sat the rag in the sink and walked over to Goodman. "What can I help you with, Detective?" he asked languidly.

"I believe I should be asking _you_ that question, Mr. Keeper," said Goodman glumly. "You're obviously a lot closer to Mia Fey than I am." He paused to take a swig of his drink. "After all, I only met her once... and that was here, as you well know," he said with a sad smile. "So, how're you feeling?"

"Well... first of all, I feel like I should sit down," said Jack slowly. He quickly grabbed his personal chair from its spot at the end of the bar and sat it on the floor across from Goodman with a dull clunk. He then perched himself on top with a loud sigh.

"Well?"

Jack looked downward for a moment. _How do I feel? _"Uh... well, I guess I'm, er... shocked," he began lamely. "I mean... Ms. Fey's been coming here regularly ever since I started working here. She'd only show up around once or twice a month, but she always wanted to talk. Its fun talking to her... one of the few women I know that's as witty as I am. Very nice, too; almost as nice as... I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"It's okay," said Goodman. "Better to rant a little if it makes you feel better."

"Okay," said Jack, nodding glumly. "Ms. Fey's also one of the best DAs in the entire city. The only other DA I know that's good as her is Mr. Hammond. Of course, given a choice between the two of them, I'd probably pick Ms. Fey every time..."

"Why's that?"

"I'm surprised you're asking me that; you saw them both at the same time... Ms. Fey always tends to believe in the person she's defending. Hammond, on the other hand... believes in Hammond. If I ever find myself before one of the judges, I'll take someone who believes in me any day of the week... I'm repeating myself, aren't I?"

"Maybe, but I can see why. Trust is a pretty big deal in this business. If I can't trust prosecutors to use evidence correctly, what's the point of arresting people? And if the DA can't trust her client, why would they want to defend anyone? And if a prosecutor can't trust their witnesses to tell the truth, you might as well kiss that guilty verdict goodbye."

Jack nodded and was about to comment on how wise Goodman sounded when...

**"WAAAAAAAAH!" **Winston Payne let out a muted scream; his body shook ominously with several muffled sobs.

Goodman turned his head and gave Payne an appraising look. "You don't have to hide your face from us, Mr. Payne," he stated firmly. "Why don't you sit up and join the conversation?"

With a heavy sigh, Payne drew himself up to his full height; Jack watched as a single tear slid out from beneath his thick glasses.

"Were you crying, Mr. Payne?" asked Jack dubiously.

"Er... no?"

Jack and Goodman both gave Payne a disapproving glare.

"Uh... I mean yes," he stammered. "Could you get me some napkins?"

"Sure," said Jack blankly. He eased himself off his chair with a groan, extracted several napkins from a large package beneath the bar counter, and sat them before Payne without fanfare.

"Thank you," muttered Payne sheepishly. He quickly pulled the top napkin on the stack and used it to blow his nose. Once he was finished, he sat the disgusting napkin next to his empty glass and sighed.

"I'd better get out the trash can," sighed Jack. He again got out of the chair, grabbed the small square trash can hidden at the end of the bar, and held it front of Payne.

"Thanks again, Jack," said Payne, tossing the tissue into the garbage with a sniffle.

Jack nodded before sending an appraising look. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I wasn't exactly expecting you to... er, react like that. I mean... you've complained to me about Ms. Fey more than anyone else."

For once, Payne actually appeared insulted. "Well, _of course _I complained about her!" he barked. "She was a rookie that didn't know her place; a cheeky, condescending little whelp!" Payne shook slightly and took a deep breath before adding, "But that doesn't mean I wanted to see her get killed!" He smacked a hand against the bar in order to emphasize his point before breaking into sobs once again.

Frowning, Goodman extended his arm and started patting Payne on the back. "It's alright," he said evenly. "I'm sure that's not what he meant by saying that. _Right_, Jack?"

Jack placed a hand against his forehead and sighed. "Yeah, that's right. Sorry, Mr. Payne. I'm obviously feeling a bit out of it..."

"It's okay," said Payne. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling, apparently lost in thought. "Y-you know, if it hadn't been for her, I wouldn't have done what I did today..."

Jack scratched his head in confusion. "Done what you did today?"

Goodman, on the other hand, merely smiled. "Your witness?"

"Exactly. Back in my crushing days, I never would have let her take the stand. I would have told her it was... too risky." Payne tore his eyes away from the ceiling and stared at his hands. "I guess... I guess being a softie isn't always so bad after all."

Jack merely nodded, again lost in thought. He allowed himself a glance at Edgeworth; he was still staring at his tea as if it were the only thing left in the world. _Perhaps I should be worried about that, _thought Jack blankly.

"I'd better go home..." said Payne, his tone suddenly uneasy. "It's getting quite late... my wife will be worried." He extracted a ten-dollar bill from his suit pocket and sat it on the bar counter. "You may keep the change, of course."

"Thanks," said Jack with a sad smile. He quietly picked up the bill and put it in the old cash register for safe keeping. When he turned around again, he saw that Goodman had placed some money on the counter as well.

"I wish I could stay a while longer, but I've got a lot of work to do tomorrow." he explained. "Hopefully I'll be able to stop by again fairly soon." With a pointed look at his money, he added, "Oh, and you can keep my change as well."

"Thanks, detective." Once again, Jack put the money in the cash register before returning to his chair.

Goodman lifted himself off his barstool with a groan. "Take care of yourself, Mr. Keeper," he said seriously. "In fact..." Goodman searched the inside of his suit, extracted something from a hidden pocket, and sat it on the bar counter. "This is my business card," he explained. "It's got my cell phone number on it. If you need anything, just call me; I always pick it up unless I'm on a crime scene or in an important meaning, and even then you can leave a message."

Jack leaned forward and examined the card; while it was rather simple, a name and phone number was all that was needed. "Thanks, detective," he said with a wan smile.

"It's no problem. Either way, I'll see you soon." He turned and headed for the door. A second later, Payne gave Jack a serious nod before following him.

"Good man, that Goodman," muttered Jack, chuckling. He looked again at the Goodman's business card and sighed. "I'd better file this with the others," he said matter-of-factly, before picking it up and placing it in a small back bar drawer; one that was filled with not only business cards but financial statements, records of bar tabs, and various other papers critical to running the Gavel. Because of its sensitive contents, it was one of the few drawers that Jack tried to keep locked at all times.

Having taken care of the business card, Jack quickly turned to look at Edgeworth, who was still sitting by himself at the far end of the bar, staring at his tea. Jack sighed at the sight; despite his shock over Mia's death, he didn't like leaving one of his customers alone for such a considerable length of time.

Jack approached Edgeworth cautiously; he didn't want to startle the prosecutor with any loud or sudden noise. Once Jack was standing across from him, he softly rapped the bar counter with a single knuckle. "Mr. Edgeworth?"

Edgeworth started at the noise and immediately fixed Jack with an intense glare; his teacup obviously hadn't been nearly as attention-consuming as the symphony he'd been watching just half an hour earlier. "What is it, Mr. Keeper?" he asked forcefully.

"Er... I just wanted to know if you wanted anything. Some more tea, perhaps?"

"You already asked me if I wanted more tea and I said no," said Edgeworth, frowning. "Why would I change my mind?"

"Er... I don't know," said Jack, rolling his eyes in the direction of the television. "In that case, do you want to talk?"

Edgeworth sat up and crossed his arms. "What makes you think I want to talk, Mr. Keeper?"

Jack placed a finger against his chin in mock consideration. "Well, ever since you heard that... er, news story, you've been quiet."

"I was quiet before they announced Ms. Fey's death, Mr. Keeper."

Jack winced at hearing the truth so bluntly, but pressed further nonetheless. "Well, yeah... I guess that's true, but... you've stopped paying attention to the TV as well. In fact, I've looked over at you several times in the last few minutes, and all you've been doing is staring at that God forsaken tea cup of yours. No offense, Mr. Edgeworth, but that's hardly what I consider to be normal behavior, even for _you._"

"That's only your opinion, Mr. Keeper. What, pray tell, is your point?"

Jack ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "My point? My point is that Ms. Fey's... passing is obviously affecting you just as much as it's affecting me. The only difference is that I _told _someone what I'm feeling, while you're just sitting there and keeping it inside. Am I right, Mr. Edgeworth?" Jack placed a hand on the bar counter and leaned foreword so that he could look Edgeworth in the eye.

Edgeworth held the eye contact for about two seconds before he blinked and looked away.

"As I thought," said Jack smugly. "Now, talk to me."

Edgeworth let out a groan of defeat. "Very well," he stated. "But only on one condition."

"What's that?"

"Get me a shot of whiskey."

"More booze?" asked Jack skeptically. "I thought you were going to drive yourself home tonight."

"That's why I'm only going to have one," said Edgeworth.

Jack sighed. "Very well." He quietly turned around, grabbed a bottle of Irish whiskey off of the uppermost of his liquor shelves, and sat it on the bar counter. He then grabbed a shot glass out of a cupboard and sat it on the bar counter as well. Humming a sad song to himself, Jack opened the bottle and filled the shot glass to the proper level before sliding it towards Edgeworth with a sad smile. "There you are," said Jack cleanly.

"Thank you, Jack," said Edgeworth. Wasting no time, he grabbed the shot and downed it in a single swift motion. Once the whiskey had made it down to his stomach, Edgeworth leaned back, sighed, and shot Jack an appraising look. "What is it you want me to talk about?"

"Nothing big," said Jack. "Just tell me how you're feeling."

Edgeworth sighed again, louder this time. "Always with the feelings, Jack. Have you ever considered how unbecoming it is to display your emotions so openly?"

Jack merely chuckled. "Unbecoming? Last time I checked, women dig a sensitive guy."

Edgeworth harrumphed and crossed his arms.

"I guess I can understand why you sulk over this sort of thing; it _is_ difficult to win in the courtroom when you get all emotional and forget what you're doing." Jack paused and tapped a finger against his right temple, another mannerism stolen directly from Edgeworth himself. "This, however, is definitely not a courtroom, so there's no good reason for you to hide your emotions at this time."

"You may have a point there," spat Edgeworth. "I feel... upset."

"That's it?"

"Mostly. You realize I hardly had what you'd consider a close relationship with Ms. Fey; we didn't really see each other face to face very often."

Jack raised his eyebrows in confusion. "You didn't? But... what about in court?"

"We don't see each other in court often, either. Think about it, Jack... In the three years you've worked here, have you heard or even read about any cases in which we are arguing against one another?"

"None that I can remember..."

"That's because there were very few. You must remember, Jack... I try only to prosecute defendants that have been arrested by those in the police department whom I trust."

"You mean like Detective Gumshoe?"

"Yes, like Detective Gumshoe," said Edgeworth, smirking. "And, since she has stopped by here every now and then, I'm sure Ms. Fey's told you about her defense philosophy before."

"Yeah, she only defends those she trusts to be completely innocent." Jack paused for a moment before he managed to put two and two together. "Oh! So you're saying..."

"Since the few detectives and officers I trust don't make such careless mistakes in judgment, I don't have to prosecute a so-called 'innocent' person in court. In fact, in my entire career I've argued exactly one big case against Mia Fey, and that was a very long time ago... back when Busman was tending here."

"Oh. So... that means..."

"It means I'd hardly consider us to be close friends or even major rivals." Edgeworth paused for a moment and looked upward, a thoughtful expression creeping onto his face. "However... even in that one case she possessed considerable skill... enough, in fact, for me to call her... an equal."

"An equal?"

"Yes, an equal. And thus, I am especially upset by the fact that some low-down, good for nothing _criminal _found it fitting to remove her from this world."

"So am I, Mr. Edgeworth, so am I..." said Jack glumly. "I'm going to miss her..."

"I'm sure you will," said Edgeworth, trailing off. "Of course, now that you have me thinking about it... I am currently feeling something else."

"Really? What?"

"Anticipation."

"Anticipation? Why that?" asked Jack, scratching his head.

"The murder of an attorney is a serious offense, Jack. The entire district will see it as a matter of pride that the person guilty of this crime will be put away," said Edgeworth matter-of-factly.

"Right..."

"Therefore, once the morning comes, the responsibility of finding the criminal guilty would've normally fallen to the District High Prosecutor," said Edgeworth with a grim smile.

"Mr. Von Karma." muttered Jack softly. "But wait... what do you mean by _normally?"_

Edgeworth titled his head. "I spoke with Von Karma this morning, and he mentioned that he's already preparing for a different big trial. Thus, the higher ups will have no choice but to assign this case to the Second High Prosecutor instead."

"_Second _High Prosecutor? But that's you, Mr. Edge..." Jack trailed off as the pieces again came together in his mind. "You mean that you're anticipating..."

Edgeworth smacked his hand against the bar counter. "I'm _obviously_ anticipating avenging my fallen comrade by locking her killer away for good."

"I believe I understand," said Jack, nodding vigorously.

"Good. Then you should also understand why I need to leave, now," said Edgeworth, standing up.

"Of course. You'll need to rest... and prepare," said Jack, his voice again downcast.

"Exactly. Now, this is for the drinks." Edgeworth placed forty dollars on the table; more than enough to cover the drinks he'd consumed that night. "You may keep the lot."

"Thanks, Mr. Edgeworth." Jack was about to pick up the money and put it away when...

"Oh, and Jack?"

"Yes, Mr. Edgeworth?"

"Thanks for listening." With a final nod of the head, Edgeworth confidently strode to the door and left the Gavel.

Jack sighed as he watched the Gavel door close behind him. "You're welcome," he muttered, shaking his head in dismay.

Now that there were no more customers to serve, Jack no longer had anything to distract him from the squirming, throbbing ache that had settled deep in the pit of his stomach. He stared blankly at the television set for a moment; it appeared that Old Billy McGee was in the middle of yet another red-faced rant.

"And if we don't get more laws to monitor these out-of-control companies, we're gonna end up being nothing more than sheep!" he screamed. "Mindless sheep following the shepherds of corrupt corporations, with dreams of nothing more than buying the next shiny new internet machine or flashy little wire-free phone!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" yelled Jack, incredulously pointing a shaky finger at the TV screen. "_'Shiny new internet machine_?' Have you been living in a cave for the last twenty years? My God, you're even worse with machines than Ms. Fey..." Jack's voice died in his throat; remembering Mia's lack of technical prowess had only served to worsen the pain in his stomach.

_Thank God the police already arrested her killer, _thought Jack to himself. _I'd don't know if I'd be able to leave the bar knowing a person that terrible was still at large._

Jack tried to listen to more of McGee's rant, but he simply couldn't concentrate. After all, the issues of corporate corruption had nothing to do with the murder of one of his most beloved customers. Jack cast a wayward glance at the various glasses and teacups scattered across the bar counter; tragedy or no tragedy he'd have to wash them, dry them, and put them away sooner or later.

"Guess I'd better get started," said Jack drearily. He was about to start by putting away the first item, the bottle of whiskey Edgeworth had been drinking from, when...

The television suddenly cut to its breaking news fanfare. Jack winced and clutched at his left ear; his head had been but three feet from the speakers when the news channel switched to the overwhelming noise of synthesized trumpets.

Jack quickly took a few steps back and shook his head in self-disapproval; normally he remembered to turn down the TV volume when there was no one in the bar apart from himself. Resigned to the fact he'd be unable to clean and listen to breaking news at the same time, Jack merely adjusted his chair so it was facing the screen and sat down.

"Good evening, viewers, I am Lily Jumper." The newswoman's face looked tenser than before; Jack idly wondered how late it would be before her bosses let her go home and get some sleep. "I interrupt this broadcast of 'Yelling about Politics with Old Billy McGee' to bring you some new information on the terrible death of respected Defense Attorney Mia Fey."

_You news people never treated her with respect __**before**__ she died, _thought Jack, his brow creasing with fury. _Damn hypocrites..._

"For those of you recently tuning in, Ms. Fey was found dead in the office of her law firm just after 9 o'clock this evening. Police officials immediately ruled the death a homicide."

"You already said this stuff," yelled Jack, shaking a fist. "Get to the new info already!"

"One suspect had been arrested at the scene of the crime; in our earlier report the name was not yet known to us."

"Right..." muttered Jack darkly.

Jumper paused and shook her head; it was rather obvious that she was trying to create dramatic tension. "However! Just minutes ago we received a full report on the suspect from the District City Police Department, one containing not only her name but the reason she committed such a heinous crime!"

_Wow, Jumper's acting even more savage than usual, _thought Jack in astonishment. _And the suspect's a she? I'm rather surprised. Maybe she's related to that psycho girl Mia put in jail a few years back... _Jack involuntarily leaned forward in anticipation; it was obvious that the suspect's name was going to be announced next.

Sure enough, Jumper smiled a feral smile and proclaimed, "Thus, we here at DNN are proud to tell you that the suspect is none other the victim's younger sister, Maya Fey!"

Jack reeled backwards in shock; that was by far the _last_ name he expected to hear. The chair started to tilt from Jack's sudden shift in weight; only by flailing one arm and grabbing the bar counter with the other was he able to stop himself from falling onto the hard wooden floor.

Jumper was still speaking, but Jack was no longer paying attention. Instead, he lowered his head and automatically recalled the various things Mia had told him about her little sister over the course of her many visits.

_"I have one sister; her name is Maya. She and I are absolutely inseparable."_

_"I bought Maya a cell phone for her birthday. Even with her training, she finds the time to call me and tell me how she's doing two or three times a week. I didn't realize how much I missed being able to be able to talk to her so often."_

_"It's actually quite amazing; Maya's growing into a young woman right before my eyes. I'm very proud of her."_

_"Thank goodness Maya sent me a message and let me know she's alright. I don't know what I'd do if she ever got hurt..."_

Jack shook his head in dismay; in the three years he'd been working at the Gavel, Mia had not once expressed disappointment or disapproval towards her sister. In fact, he'd gotten a strong impression that Maya was incapable of _any _wrongdoing, let alone something as... _unforgivable _as premeditated murder. With a resigned sigh; Jack managed to suppress his confusion and again pay attention to the television screen.

"Of course, we here at DNN express full confidence that Ms. Fey will quickly be brought to justice."

Jumper paused and started talking to someone off-screen; Jack absently wondered if she ever made it through more than two consecutive stories without being interrupted in such an obviously unprofessional manner.

After a few seconds of inaudible conversation, she returned her attention to the camera and flashed her best feral smile. Her eyes sparkling, she stated, "If my assistant speaks the truth, DNN has just received a photograph of the murderer! Apparently, this is the official picture of Ms. Maya Fey that was taken by the Police Department just minutes after her arrival at the District City Detention Center. Now, if we can get that image on the screen..." A second later Jumper's heavily made-up face was replaced by the color photograph, and Jack let out a gasp.

He recognized her immediately; after all, Mia had shown him many pictures of her little sister over the past several years. However, all of those photos of a happy, cheerful girl could not contrast more sharply with the image of absolute misery staring Jack fully in the face. Maya's eyes, normally a bright, vivid blue, were watery and flecked with red; it was rather obvious that she'd been crying rather heavily just before the picture was taken. Her long, bluish-black hair, normally done up in a bizarre series of tresses and ponytails, was lopsided and limp; after all, something as whimsical and irrelevant as hairstyle didn't matter to a person who was in the process of being branded a murderer. Jack was most surprised by her posture; instead of standing up straight, tall, and proud like most (typically guilty) suspects arraigned for criminal charges, she was slouching forward, not caring about how she appeared in the slightest. Jack thought she looked, in a single word, defeated.

"As you could see, Ms. Maya Fey was clearly trying her best to look sad about the death of her sister! You viewers out there can not deny that this young woman is quite the deceptive little vixen!" announced Jumper proudly as she once again appeared on-screen.

_She's honestly enjoying this._ At that miserable thought, Jack winced and rubbed a hand against the white fabric of his shirt; his stomachache was only getting worse.

"Of course, DNN will be bringing you more information on this tragically twisted murder case as it becomes available. However, as 10:00 has passed, we will now be returning to our next quality news program, "The Finger-Pointing Pundit Hour", already in progress. This has been Lily Jumper of DNN reporting."

Jack stood up and turned off the TV before the next program could show up; the last thing he needed to hear was a whole bunch of loud-talking loonies pinning their failings on one scapegoat or another.

"I'd better start cleaning everything up," muttered Jack darkly. He stared at the TV; his own darkened reflection stared back. "You're going to need a _lot _of sleep tonight, Mr. Keeper," he muttered as he raised a finger and absently tapped the screen.

Jack turned around to look down the length of the bar counter; the various dirty cups and glasses looked as formidable as ever. He was about to pick up Edgeworth's whiskey bottle once again when his stomach gave a rather strong lurch.

_I'd better sit down again, _thought Jack as he let out an audible groan. _Feels like I'm going to throw up if I move too fast._

His task again postponed, Jack feebly returned to his chair and sat down. Breathing heavily and attempting not to make any sudden movements, he again began to dwell upon the circumstances of Mia's death.

"_That breaking news ghoul never did give out a motive. Why would Mia's beloved little sister want to kill her?" _said a small voice in Jack's mind.

"_Maybe the Fey sisters weren't as close as Mia led me to believe," _replied a second, more negative, voice.

_"But still... there's quite a gap between not loving your sister and wanting to kill her."_

_"Perhaps the girl has mental problems. All that spiritual stuff has to wear a person down, after all."_

_"But Mia was raised the exact same way as her sister, and she didn't really act __**weird,**__ per se..."_

_"Just because you know one Fey doesn't mean you know them all, Jack."_

_"Still. Remember her face? Was that really the face of a cold-hearted killer? I think not."_

_"She could have been faking it."_

_"If she was, Jumper's right, she's one hell of a deceptive little vixen. For once, I'm really not sure if the police arrested the right person."_

_"But if Maya didn't do it, then who did?"_

Jack shook his head is dismay. "I really don't know," he said aloud. "It just doesn't make any sense. Doesn't make any Goddamn sense at all."

The pain in his stomach somewhat quelled by his forced stillness, Jack took another long look at the various old glasses and cups on the bar. They still had to be washed and put away, but that was a task that could wait a few more minutes. As for now...

Jack slowly stood from the chair, mechanically grabbed a shot glass out of one of the cupboards and sat it on the bar counter. With a resigned sigh, he opened Edgeworth's favorite bottle of whiskey, and, for the first time in over a year, began to pour himself his own drink.

* * *

Sigh... if only I had some film noir music to complement that closing scene... Ah well, fanfiction technology can only go so far. 

This, as I've said before, is the first Part of my Turnabout Sisters story arc, which I started writing ten months ago and finished writing... er, three weeks ago. I really need to focus more when it comes to picking up the pace. Luckily, I'll have to put up this arc (which consists of 7 Parts and nine chapters), Part 2 of Episode "X", and (by that time) 2-4 parts of the Case 3 arc before this version of the story catches up to the grim reality. Enjoy it while it lasts, peoples...

The next part of the story, in which Jack gets to pick Edgeworth and Gumshoe's brains after the first day of investigation, will hopefully be up in a week or so. Until then... beware the man in the yellow hat. He's not as trustworthy as his charms would lead you to believe...

-DSL


	7. Part 2: Investigating the Investigators

**Note: **Phoenix Wright / Gyakuten Saiban, its settings, plot points, and characters, are all the property of Capcom, and are being used here without permission. This chapter takes place after the first investigation phase of GS1 Case 2; Spoilers for that case and references to GS1-1.

**Episode II: A Toast to the Sisters**

_Part 2: Investigating the Investigators_

**September 6****th****, 2016, 4:15 PM**

The blue blur raced down the leafy green hill, effortlessly absorbing the spinning golden circles that lay across his path.

_I'm making record time!_ Jack thought excitedly, his focus contained solely on the two-screened device he clenched between his fingers.

His path cleared of enemies, the blue blur leapt from a platform and accelerated along a leafy green straightaway, pausing only once to leap across a patch of perilous silver spikes.

Jack's heartbeat started to speed up; simple as it was, this game always gave him a thrill. Ignoring the bead of sweat on his brow, Jack pressed one of the machine's many buttons and the blur's speed increased dramatically.

_Now, if I can just make it down the hill without getting crushed, I should be able to get a new high-score ranking. _Jack barely dared to breathe; the last time he'd beaten his old record on this particular level was over two years ago.

As the blue blur reached the last, steepest green hill, a colossal ball of rough-hewn stone started to follow him on his path. As lateral motion was impossible in this two-dimensional stage, he would have to rely on his intrinsic speed to avoid certain death. Colored sparks of pure energy appeared beneath his feet as he ran faster then he ever had before.

Jack was now too giddy to keep himself from voicing his thoughts out loud. "C'mon... almost there..." he chanted. He was almost to the bottom of the hill when...

**"Almost where, pal?!" **interjected a gruff voice.

**"Gak!"** Jack jumped and nearly dropped the machine in surprise; he'd been so intent on playing his game that he hadn't really been watching or listening for any customers entering the bar. Before Jack could return his fingers to their proper places on the machine's many buttons, he heard the disincentive pinging noise that indicated the blue blur had met his untimely end; the ball of stone had clearly won.

Closing the machine with a snap, Jack looked up and met the curious eyes of Detective Dick Gumshoe. "Well, Jack?" he asked again, grinning cheerfully.

Jack placed a hand on his forehead and sighed. "Almost to the end of the level, Detective Gumshoe. I might have made it there in record time, too, had you not scared me half to death."

"Oh, I'm sorry, pal," said Gumshoe, scratching his head nervously. "I just didn't know what you were doing. I've never seen you use one of those... things before. It looked like you were using it to hypnotize yourself!" Gumshoe's body shook as he let out a hearty chuckle.

Jack absently looked down at his machine again. "Yeah... I guess it did sort of look like that. Video games tend to have that effect on me."

Gumshoe nodded. "I think I understand, Jack," he stated warmly, before trailing off and scratching his head once again. "But... why'd you decide to bring it to the bar with you today?"

Jack again sighed; there was no good reason for him to deny Gumshoe the rightful answer to that question. "Nowadays, I only play it when I'm feeling... sad," he said plainly. "My old two-screen machine lets me forget about all the sad things a while."

Gumshoe frowned and looked downward. "Makes sense, pal." he said dejectedly. "So... what's got you down?"

Jack decided to keep this answer short and sweet. "Mia Fey," he sighed.

Gumshoe looked just a bit stunned. "Ah... of course. Everyone's at the precinct's feeling down about that too; she was a darn good lawyer." Gumshoe paused and let out a soft sniffle before returning to his cheerful visage. "Well, anyway, don't you worry about that, Jack... me and my team are doing everything we can to make sure her no-good sister pays for her crime!"

Jack sat up, startled. "What? They put _you _in charge of the investigation?"

Gumshoe leaned forward and hunched his shoulders in anger. "Of course they put me in charge of the investigation! In case you're forgetting, it's my job to be in charge of homicide investigations, pal!"

Jack shook his head; his bad mood was really starting to get him into trouble. "I'm sorry, Detective; I didn't mean to insult you. I'm just all confused, what with Ms. Fey dead and her beloved little sister getting arrested for the crime and all."

Gumshoe's eyebrows started to dance in thought. "You say that as if you don't think she's guilty..."

Jack paused for a moment. Did he think Maya Fey was guilty? "Well... I'm not really sure. I guess she _might _have done it, but... Mia never gave me the impression that there was anything... _wrong_ with her sister."

Gumshoe squared his shoulders. "Well, I for one am certain that she's the killer!"

Jack shot Gumshoe a questioning look. "Really? Why's that?"

Gumshoe merely made a fist and thumped it against his chest. "You're looking at the detective that arrested her, pal!" he declared proudly.

Stunned, Jack stared at Gumshoe for several seconds before regaining coherent thought. After realizing how uncomfortable he looked, Jack turned away and croaked, "Really?"

"Do I look like the kind of guy that would lie to you?" asked Gumshoe. Not waiting for an answer, he added, "I was the first man on the scene, pal. I managed to catch that crafty Maya Fey before she could even think to escape!"

Jack nodded; despite all of his faults, Gumshoe had always been very diligent when it came to his job. "So... can you tell me why you arrested her?" he asked softly.

"Nope," said Gumshoe, smiling. _"However,_" he continued, raising a hand, "You _can _read about it."

"Read about it?"

"Yep! You see... a nice reporter lady asked me some questions a couple of hours after I made the arrest. She wrote an entire article about me! The reason I said you could read about it is because I've got me a newspaper right here!" Gumshoe reached inside his trench coat, pulled out a folded up newspaper, and slammed it onto the bar counter. Jack was surprised to see that it was a copy of the _District City_ _Examiner, _not Gumshoe's beloved _District City Revealer._

"I was hoping the _Revealer _would do an article about me too, but no one from their offices has tried to set up an interview," said Gumshoe matter-of-factly. "Sometimes I wonder how they get their news stories if they don't try to get any interviews!" he added, chuckling.

Jack smiled inwardly; how the _Revealer _made up its 'news' stories was hardly a mystery to him. Unfortunately, the events of Mia's murder were much more complex and difficult for him to grasp. Relived at the thought of finding _some _answers, Jack was about to take a look at the newspaper when Gumshoe suddenly snatched it away and held it to his chest.

"Hey pal, aren't you forgetting about something?" he huffed.

Jack was at a loss. "Forgetting about something...?"

Gumshoe pointed in the direction of the beer taps. "I didn't just come here for the view, pal!"

Jack flushed with embarrassment; he'd been so bent on getting information he'd forgotten to ask if Gumshoe wanted a drink! "Oh! I'm terribly, sorry, detective," he stammered. "What'll you have?"

"Plain old beer sounds fine. I'm a bit short on funds this week, but I have enough for one."

"Of course, Detective Gumshoe." Jack stood up and moved his chair toward the side of the bar before quickly procuring a mug and filling it from the regular beer tap. Once it was filled to the proper amount, he returned to the detective and slid it across the counter with a smile.

"Is that better, detective?" he asked innocently.

Gumshoe stared at the glass for a fraction of a second before raising it to his mouth and taking a liberal swig. "Perfect as always, Jack!" he announced as he slammed it back to the counter.

"Excellent!" said Jack, clapping his hands together. "Can I see that paper now?"

"Go right ahead!" declared Gumshoe, handing the newspaper to Jack with a grin. "The story with me in it's near the bottom of the front page, pal."

Nodding, Jack quickly unrolled and unfolded the _Examiner_; his eyes were immediately drawn to the pictures of both Fey sisters, prominently displayed near the top of the page. Above them, the main headline screamed **"A TWISTED FAMILY AFFAIR: **DC attorney meets death at the hand of her own sister". Resolving to worry about the huge main article later, Jack scanned the bottom of the page and found a small article with Gumshoe's name in the text. Eager to get _some_ answers, Jack started to read.

"**SHE DID IT FOR SURE"**

_Detective Confident in Maya Fey's Guilt_

By Henrietta Happenstance

_While many District City Citizens are still coming to grips over the arrest of Maya Fey for the murder of her elder sister, there is one man who hasn't the slightest doubt that the younger Ms. Fey committed the crime._

_"There's no way that anyone else could have done this," said Chief Homicide Detective Dick Gumshoe. "Believe you me, pal, I don't arrest people on their suspicious looks alone."_

_However, the apparent inalienability of Detective Gumshoe's conclusion does not mean he will try his hardest to uncover more evidence as he continues to investigate the crime scene._

_"You can never have too much evidence, pal," Gumshoe said. "The more things I uncover about this crime, the faster we can declare Ms. Fey guilty when she goes on trial."_

_In addition to confidence in his own abilities, Detective Gumshoe also possesses a firm faith in the prosecutors of the District City Prosecutors' Office._

_"With proof like this, no prosecutor can go wrong. Besides, it'll be Prosecutor Edgeworth arguing this trial, and there's no way he can ever lose!"_

_Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, a genius in his field, will indeed be in charge of arguing State v. Fey before an impartial Judge of the law. While many District City__citizens view Mr. Edgeworth as possessing a streak of ruthlessness, Detective Gumshoe vehemently denies that this is the case._

_"Don't go knocking Mr. Edgeworth, pal!" Gumshoe said. "He's done more for this country in the last four years than almost every other prosecutor put together! If it weren't for him, we'd all be living in chaos!"_

_In fact, the only members of the Legal Department who haven't gained Detective Gumshoe's support are those who bear the agonizing duty of defending suspects in court._

_"Defense lawyers? You can't trust them, pal!" Gumshoe exclaimed. "They'll make up all sorts of crazy lies to get killers put back on the streets! Aside from poor Mia Fey, I have yet to find one defense lawyer worth my respect!"_

_As of the writing of this article, no Defense Attorney has stepped forward to defend Ms. Maya Fey. It is in this writer's opinion that that unfortunate task will most likely fall into the hands of a defender appointed by the State._

Jack growled after finishing the article; Gumshoe's interview hadn't told him anything at all! Annoyed at the distance some reporters would go to fill a bit of white space, Jack folded the paper into fourths and returned it to Gumshoe with a thump.

"So... What'd you think?" asked Gumshoe brightly.

Normally, Jack would have complained, but he realized that it wouldn't be in his best interest to anger the best chance he had at learning anything about the investigation. "It was... all right," said Jack, making sure to choose his words carefully. "I'm still a bit surprised at how... _certain _you are about the identity of the killer, though."

Gumshoe nodded. "I don't get paid to make weak decisions, pal. You would have arrested her too if you'd seen what I'd seen last night." He stared at his beer glumly.

"Well, that's just it," said Jack plainly. "I don't have any idea _what_ you saw." He paused for just a moment before blurting, "Do you think you can tell me?"

Gumshoe's head snapped up immediately; his eyes flashed in sudden irritation. "Hey! What makes you think I'm allowed to tell you about that! No offense, pal, but you've got nothing to do with this case!"

Ignoring the slight twinge of hurt in his stomach, Jack leaned forward, gripped the bar with both hands, and looked Gumshoe straight in the eyes. "In case you are forgetting, Ms. Fey was one of my _best friends, _Detective. Doesn't that mean anything to you?" he asked softly.

Gumshoe winced and quickly looked away; it was rather obvious that he hadn't considered that. He absently stared at the wall for several seconds before slowly returning his gaze to Jack's face. "I'm sorry, Jack," he said glumly. "I guess a guy would want to know how his friend died, wouldn't he?"

Seeing no reason to further berate the detective, Jack merely nodded.

Gumshoe took a large swig of beer before coming to an apparent decision. "I guess I can tell you a couple of things, Jack," he said slowly. "You've got to understand, though, there's some stuff I can't blab to _anyone_ before the start of the trial."

"I understand, Detective Gumshoe." This was a true statement; three years of serving lawyers and detectives had taught him about the penalties of divulging too much information before a case went to court.

"Thanks pal," said Gumshoe, looking grateful. "So, what was it you wanted me to tell you about?"

"I wanted you to tell me about the crime scene. About why you arrested Maya Fey," said Jack levelly.

"Oh, right!" Gumshoe's eyebrows started to dance back and forth; it was rather obvious that he was trying to gather his thoughts. "Well... it all started last night, when the department got a phone call from someone who witnessed the crime."

Jack nodded as a twinge of surprise rippled through his stomach; he hadn't really considered the fact that there would be a witness to the murder. _Of course, _he thought wryly, _it'd be kind of weird for the police to catch someone at the scene of a crime if no one told them the crime was happening. _His intrigue increasing, he asked, "Can you tell me anything about the witness?"

Gumshoe shook his head. "Sorry, pal, but the witness is under protection. I really can't give you any information on her, you know."

_Well, at least I know it's a female witness, _thought Jack absently. "Okay, go on..."

"It only took me about three minutes to make it to the crime scene; you know how diligent I am," said Gumshoe, chuckling. "When I got there, I found the victim, dead, and two other people."

"_Two _other people?" asked Jack incredulously. "Would that be Maya Fey and the witness?"

"Nah," said Gumshoe, waving a hand. "The witness saw the crime through the office window. She never stepped foot in the building."

"I see," said Jack, smiling at the fact that Gumshoe had just slipped him more information on his mysterious witness. "If the second person wasn't the witness, then who was it?"

"The second person was Harry Butz," said Gumshoe matter-of-factly.

"Harry Butz...?"

"Yeah, Harry Butz! That guy from Mr. Payne's case last month!"

It took Jack several more seconds of confused blinking to remember that Gumshoe had constantly used the name "Harry Butz" to refer to Mia's understudy, Phoenix Wright. "Oh, yeah, the rookie lawyer," mused Jack, nodding. "Why was he there? Surely he wasn't working that late into the night..."

"Nah, he wasn't working. I think he mentioned something about taking Ms. Fey out to eat... or something," said Gumshoe.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!" snapped Gumshoe, breathing heavily. "Besides, what does it matter, anyway?"

"I don't know enough to answer that, Detective," snipped Jack. "So... Mr. Butz was at the scene of the crime. Did he also claim Maya Fey was the killer?"

"Nah... He didn't say much of anything, pal. Way he was acting, he probably only arrived on the scene a minute or two before I did. He wasn't even really making any sense when I showed up."

Jack nodded in understanding; Mr. Wright was undoubtedly closer to Mia than he was, especially considering what Mia had told him last month. "So... how'd you know to arrest Maya, then? Did the witness tell you she was the killer?"

Gumshoe shook his head. "Nope. The witness didn't really say much about what the killer looked like. I can see why, though; you can't see inside the Fey Law Office too well from that hotel across the street."

"I understand," said Jack, wondering how much information Gumshoe would let slip about the witness before his visit ended. "So how'd you know to arrest Maya and not Mr. Wright?"

"Deciding who to arrest was actually rather easy. The evidence clearly pointed to Maya Fey."

Jack let out a harrumph; evidence had been mentioned in Gumshoe's interview multiple times, but the paper had never bothered to explain anything more. His curiosity increasing, he asked, "And exactly what _was _this evidence?"

"Well, first there was that..." Gumshoe suddenly stopped speaking and clapped a hand against his mouth. Comically, Gumshoe continued to try and speak for a moment, but his words were muffled beyond all recognition.

Jack crossed his arms in clear confusion. "What'd you do that for?"

Gumshoe quickly returned his hand to the bar counter and shook his head in dismay. "Sorry about that, Jack. You see, I almost forgot that I'm not allowed to talk about the evidence yet."

_Damn it, _thought Jack, _not knowing about this evidence is killing me! _"Are you _sure_ you can't talk about it?" he asked, attempting to sound sweet and innocent.

"I'm sure," said Gumshoe nodding. "You see, early this morning Mr. Edgeworth told me not to talk about the evidence with anyone who doesn't have a badge. That means only police and lawyers, pal."

Jack sighed internally; he knew from experience that Gumshoe would never intentionally violate one of Edgeworth's direct orders. However, the mention of lawyer badges allowed him to pursue an entirely different line of questioning. "So... did you run into Maya's defense lawyer today, then?"

Gumshoe sat up taller, his eyes bulging in excitement. "I sure did, pal!"

Jack's heart gave a particularly loud thump; he knew that a lawyer that went to see Gumshoe before the standard 4 PM deadline couldn't possibly be a defender appointed by the State. "Who was it? Mr. Grossberg?"

Gumshoe vehemently shook his head. "Nope. I haven't seen Mr. Grossberg all day, pal."

Jack was again surprised; he had been sure that if there was anyone who would have been willing to help Mia's little sister out, it was Mia's old mentor. "If it wasn't him, then who was it?"

Gumshoe leaned forward and smiled. "Why, it was Mr. Harry Butz, of course!"

"Oh, of course, Mr. Butz..." said Jack dismissively. A moment later, he realized the implications of what Gumshoe just said. "Wait, **WHAAAAT?!"**yelled Jack, jumping back in astonishment. "That doesn't make any sense!"

Gumshoe scratched his head. "What do you mean by that, Jack?"

"Mr. Wri- er, Butz saw Maya Fey at the scene of the crime! Why would he want to defend the person arrested right before his eyes?!"

"Isn't it obvious!" snapped Gumshoe. "He wants to try and... er... go and... um... It's not my job to pick lawyers' brains, pal! Who do I look like, Psycho Lloyd?

_Psycho Lloyd? Sounds like a serial killer... _"No... You don't look like, er... that guy."

"Then why'd you ask me that paleontology question?"

"Because... I thought you'd realize... Oh, never mind." It was rather obvious that Jack wasn't going to be able to convince Detective Gumshoe that Mr. Wright's attempt to defend Maya Fey seemed odd; he wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed when it came to such logic. Deciding to worry about the contradiction regarding Maya's lawyer later, Jack instead thought about the one question that had been weighing him down the most. "Can I ask you one more thing, Detective Gumshoe?" he began tentatively.

"Sure!" said Gumshoe eagerly, before frowning and adding, "I'm not sure if I can tell you the answer, though."

Jack nodded to show he understood. He then took a deep breath and blurted, "H-how did she die?"

Gumshoe's eyes bulged slightly; he obviously hadn't been expecting Jack to ask him _that. _He gazed at his drink for a moment before picking it up and taking a huge swig.

"Well?" asked Jack, crossing his arms.

Still looking downward, Gumshoe muttered, "Well... that's another one of the things I'm not allowed to talk about. The cause of death is a part of the autopsy report, and that _is _evidence after all."

Jack ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Damn it! This is getting _really _annoying."

"I'm sorry, pal. If I was you, I'd be ticked off as well." said Gumshoe, his gaze still fixated on his drink.

Jack exhaled noisily. "I don't understand _why_ something like that has to be a secret, though. I mean, most of the time the cause of death is one of the first things released to the public! What makes Ms. Fey's case so special?"

Gumshoe took another sip of beer and finally allowed himself to again look up into Jack's face. "The way this murder happened is kind of... unusual, Jack. The department thinks it might corrupt the trial if it gets out too early, and Mr. Edgeworth agrees." He paused to take another sip of beer before adding, "I'm really sorry I can't tell you more."

Jack's stomach lurched; he _definitely _didn't like the sound of the word 'unusual'. As he dwelled on how Mia could have died an abnormal death, a myriad of images suddenly flooded his mind, none of them too pleasant. He started to shudder.

"Are you okay, pal?" asked Gumshoe, his eyebrows knitting in concern.

"Yeah..." muttered Jack hoarsely. "I just need to sit down, that's all." He dragged his chair back to the spot across from Gumshoe and slowly sat on top. Still feeling somewhat woozy, he leaned forward and placed and let his head rest against the bar counter, trying to ignore the various unpleasant images that continued to swirl about his brain.

"You sure don't look okay, pal," said Gumshoe uncertainly, before snapping, "This isn't a sneaky bartender trick to make me give up restricted information, is it?"

Jack shook his head and slowly forced himself to look back up. "Not quite," he said dully. "However, I would like to know one thing about Ms. Fey's death; even you can't tell me exactly what happened."

Gumshoe rubbed his stubbly chin appreciatively. "Ask away... and I'll figure out if I can tell you the answer."

Jack nodded appreciatively. "Was Mia's death... a quick one? Please tell me she didn't suffer..." he pleaded, looking Gumshoe directly in the eyes.

Blinking rapidly, Gumshoe broke eye contact with Jack and stared at the ceiling for several seconds, apparently in deep thought.

"Well?"

Gumshoe put his head back down. "I guess I can tell you that much," he said with a wan smile. "You see, her death was... what's the word? Instantaneous. She passed away before she could even _have_ a chance to suffer. Does that make you feel any better, pal?"

Jack let out a relieved sigh as nearly all of the disturbing thoughts fell away. "Yeah; it makes me feel much better. Thanks for telling me, detective."

"It's no trouble, Jack. I just hope Mr. Edgeworth won't get mad at me for letting you know so much."

"If he does, I'll take all the blame," said Jack simply. "After all, no one can resist my incredible bartender charm." He let out a soft chuckle to show he was kidding.

"Yeah... you're good at getting stuff out of people, that's for sure..." Gumshoe paused and looked towards the door.

"Is something wrong?" asked Jack.

"Nah... I'm just wondering if Mr. Edgeworth's going to show up. I told him I'd be at the Gavel after my shift and all..."

"Well, you can never be too sure with Mr. Edgeworth," said Jack matter-of-factly. "I wouldn't be surprised if he's still researching the case... hopefully he can make some sense of things."

Gumshoe turned back to Jack and smiled. "Yeah, that sounds about right. Of course, with a case as easy as this one, he shouldn't have too much trouble getting his facts together. I'll bet you when he does show up he'll be in a good mood and ready to kick back and relax for a while!"

Jack was about to tell Gumshoe that the odds of that bet were hardly in his favor (not to mention he probably didn't have enough money to be making bets anyway), but he didn't even get the chance to open his mouth before...

"**BOOM!" **The Gavel's main door suddenly burst open in a single dramatic movement. Despite the heavy looking briefcase in his left hand, Miles Edgeworth swiftly made his way through the obstacle course that was the Gavel's haphazardly arranged wooden tables. Pausing only briefly to sit the case upon on the ground, he sat on one of the barstools and fixed Jack with a glare of utmost impatience.

Jack stared for just a moment before sliding off his chair and approaching Edgeworth with a smile. "Hello, Mr. Edgeworth!" he greeted cheerfully. "Aren't we in a hurry this evening?"

"I have no time for your insolence today, Jack. I just want a drink... right now." Edgeworth sounded rather tired; Jack wondered just how early he'd woken up for the sake of investigating his case.

"Ask and ye shall receive, Mr. Edgeworth," said Jack somberly. "What'll you have? Wine? Whiskey? Do you want me to mix you something?"

Edgeworth looked upon in thought for just a second before coming to a decision. "Whiskey," he stated. "In fact, make it a double whiskey, and give it to me straight."

Jack looked at Edgeworth a wary look before nodding. "Very well." He immediately turned and headed for the liquor shelves.

"Hey, Mr. Edgeworth? Aren't you going to say hi?" snapped Gumshoe, his breathing harsh and noisy.

Even with his back turned, Jack could feel the intensity of one of Edgeworth's trademark glares. "I will greet you properly after my drink, detective. I am simply in no mind for idle chatter in my current state."

"That's a shame," said Jack. Grabbing an oversized shot glass out of the bar counter, he added, "Picking brains is one of my favorite workday activities. Isn't that right, Detective?"

"Huh? Oh... of course, Jack."

Edgeworth fixed Gumshoe with another glare. "What does he mean by that? Don't tell me you've been blabbing classified information about tomorrow's trial..."

"Huh? Well... I..." stammered Gumshoe.

Jack walked back to Edgeworth and sat both a bottle of malt whiskey and the empty shot glass on the bar counter. "Don't worry about it, Mr. Edgeworth," he said genially. "I don't know anything that won't be all over the press by tomorrow anyway. And even if I did learn a secret or two, exactly who am _I _going to blab to?"

"There are people in this world who would pay a lot of money to... er, 'pick the brain' of an insider," said Edgeworth seriously.

Jack laughed. "I'd hardly call myself an insider, Mr. Edgeworth. I'm just here to serve drinks." To prove his point, his opened the bottle and poured exactly two shots of whiskey into the glass before sliding it across to Edgeworth with a smirk.

"If you say so," said Edgeworth benignly. He stared at the glass for but a moment before downing the entire double shot in a series of quick gulps.

"Damn, Mr. Edgeworth!" yelled Gumshoe. "You're going to make yourself sick doing that!"

Edgeworth merely shot Gumshoe another glare. "You're hardly the proper person to be admonishing me about my drinking habits," he said coldly. "Need I remind you of the 'incident' you had on New Years' Day, 2015?"

Jack shuddered. "Don't remind me. I never did manage to get that puke stain out of my shirt..."

"Hey!" shouted Gumshoe. "I didn't get my Christmas bonus that year! I was under a lot of stress, pal!"

"If you consider the absence of a two-figure sum to be 'a lot of stress,' I'm rather thankful that you never considered becoming a prosecutor." Edgeworth shook his head in dismay and returned his gaze to Jack. "Another shot, please, and don't waste time getting another glass." To prove his point, he slid the current one towards the other side of the counter.

Jack paused for a moment before nodding. "If you say so." He immediately reopened the whiskey bottle and placed another shot in the once-used glass.

Edgeworth didn't even bother with saying thank you; he grabbed the glass and downed the contents the instant Jack had finished pouring them. His eyes bulged slightly before he leaned forward and let out a contented sigh.

"Feeling better, Mr. Edgeworth?" asked Jack hesitantly.

Edgeworth looked Jack in the face and shook his head. "Not really," he said bitterly. "I'll probably won't feel better until tomorrow's trial is over with and done."

"Is it really that bad?" asked Jack, his curiosity stirred up once more.

"In a word... yes."

Jack felt a bead of sweat roll down his face. "Er... could you expand on that? 'Yes' could mean one of many things."

Edgeworth grimaced and shook his head. "Why should I tell you anything more? You've probably already heard the entire story from Detective Gumshoe, anyway."

Now it was Jack's turn to shake his head. "Gumshoe's actually a tough nut to crack," he said with a smirk. "He only gave me a bit of information, and were it not for my friendship with Ms. Fey he probably wouldn't have even given me that." He looked over at the now smiling detective and tapped two fingers to his temple in salute.

A flicker of surprise flashed across Edgeworth's face. "Well, that's rather... uncommon." He turned and looked Gumshoe in the eye. "I might actually be able to put a good word into your evaluation next month."

Gumshoe's mouth fell open in shock. "Really? That's great, Mr. Edgeworth, sir!"

"Of course it is, Detective. Just don't screw it up," deadpanned Edgeworth. He then returned his gaze to his empty shot glass and sighed.

"Are you _sure _you don't want to tell me anything, Mr. Edgeworth? You look rather stressed..." said Jack innocently.

"I really should remain silent."

"That's what you always say, Mr. Edgeworth," said Jack seriously. "I don't see why you keep saying it; I've never blabbed about this sort of thing to other people before."

"Humph."

Jack smiled inwardly; Edgeworth was definitely weakening. "Besides, I might be able to spot something you didn't. Just because you're the best prosecutor in the district doesn't mean you're invincible, you know."

Edgeworth frowned. "Don't play to my ego, Mr. Keeper. You and I both know that Mr. von Karma is by far the best prosecutor in the district. After all the years we've spent together, I can be nothing more than his humble protégé."

"I guess you've got me there," said Jack softly. "Unlike Mr. von Karma, however, you have a bit more depth than your average robot. Because of that, it's rather easy for me to notice you're feeling down; you look just as bad tonight as you did yesterday." Jack paused for dramatic effect; he knew he had to hit Edgeworth where it mattered for him to spill his guts. "Besides... if you work out your troubles with me and Gumshoe here tonight, you won't be bothered by them during the trial tomorrow."

Edgeworth exhaled nosily before he slumped in defeat. "I guess you're right, Jack," he muttered bitterly. "_However, _if anything I tell you tonight leaves this bar... I will make sure you pay for it."

Jack looked Edgeworth in the eye and nodded. Having known the man for three years, he knew Edgeworth had the capacity to make him suffer if he really wanted to. However, considering his misgivings about this particular case, this was a risk he was more than willing to take.

Gumshoe let out a noise of confusion. "Are you really going to tell Jack everything, Mr. Edgeworth? I mean, you told _me_ I couldn't tell _anyone _about this case, sir!"

Edgeworth turned to Gumshoe and shot him a weak smile. "I assure you I'm not going to tell him _everything, _detective. Just the things that have been bothering me."

"That's perfectly fine with me, Mr. Edgeworth," said Jack levelly. "So anyway... what's on your mind?"

Edgeworth looked down and started drumming his fingers against the bar, apparently lost in thought. After several seconds, he finally blurted, "My key witness... is an idiot."

"An... idiot? What makes you say that?" asked Jack skeptically.

"I met with her earlier today, in order to work on her testimony." Edgeworth placed a hand against his forehead and sighed. "In the beginning, she didn't even know what a 'contradiction' was. It took me ten minutes of explaining before she even had a basic grasp of the definition."

Jack let out a low whistle; he was well aware that pointing out conflicts between witnesses and evidence was by far the most fundamental strategy of the modern defense attorney. If the main witness to Mia's murder didn't know what they were... "It must have been hard for you to get her story straight."

"Tell me about it. I actually spent nearly as much time assisting her with her testimony as I did inquiring about the evidence. Almost three hours..."

"Damn," muttered Jack softly. "Was she at least a cooperative witness?"

Surprisingly, Edgeworth started to laugh, albeit softly. "Oh, she was cooperative. A bit _too _cooperative, if you ask me."

"What do you mean?"

"How do I put this? She was... flirtatious."

"Flirtatious?"

"Yes. She couldn't go more than 5 minutes without making faces at me or spouting out one double entendre or another. It was petty and rather exhausting... Sadly, it reminded me of when I was younger and got yelled at all the time by my little sister."

"I see," said Jack thoughtfully. "She does seem rather... weird."

"Hey!" shouted Gumshoe, his face curled into a snarl. "I thought she was rather nice! Don't start making fun of people you've never met before, pal!"

Jack shot Edgeworth a knowing smile. "It sounds like the detective over there fell for your witness hook, line, and sinker," he muttered under his breath.

Edgeworth glanced at Gumshoe before nodding. "You might be right," he replied in an equally quiet voice. "I'll have to talk to him about that later. The last thing I need is my primary detective getting wrapped around a pretty witness's finger. Of course, I sincerely doubt that he would leave himself _too _weak to bias after so many years on the force..."

"Hey? What are you two whispering about over there? Are you pals making fun of me?" shouted Gumshoe.

Jack jumped slightly and whirled to face Gumshoe. "Not at all, Detective. We were actually talking about how good of a detective you are!"

Gumshoe let out a sarcastic laugh. "Yeah, like I believe that! It's one thing to put me down every now and then, but it's another thing to lie about it!"

Jack let out a sigh; he knew that repeating the fact that Edgeworth really had been complementing his skills would only make Gumshoe madder. Having had a lot of experience with the homicide detective, Jack knew there was only one easy way to get rid of his anger. Adopting a neutral tone, he stated, "I'm sorry, detective; that was rude of me. As a token of apology, you don't have to pay for that beer."

As expected, Gumshoe's anger immediately evaporated. "Apology accepted! Thanks for being so kind to me, Jack!"

"Of course." Rolling his eyes, he walked back over to Edgeworth. "So... now that I've got that little incident out of the way, is there anything else troubling you about tomorrow's case?"

Edgeworth looked down at his empty glass again; he was apparently lost in thought. After a few awkward seconds, he muttered, "I got a call from the Public Prosecutor's Office a little while ago."

"Really? That doesn't sound like too big a deal." Jack knew that the Office of the Public Prosecutor was one level above that of the Chief Prosecutor; it was the job of the Public Prosecutor and his employees to help oversee every trial handled by prosecutors in the entire region, District City included. To Jack, it hardly seemed unusual for someone from the Public Office to be giving a local prosecutor some direct information every now and then. Making sure not to sound too accusatory, Jack asked, "What could possibly be unsettling about that?"

"Well... it wasn't just any call... it was from Public Prosecutor Parsons himself."

"Ah... yes... Public Prosecutor Peter Parsons." Despite his standing in the legal system, Jack couldn't help but laugh every time he heard Prosecutor Parson's name and title; he always wondered if the man went into prosecuting for the sake of alliteration alone. Personally, Jack had never met Prosecutor Parsons; a man of that importance surely had better uses for his free time than hanging out in a bar with legal employees of lowly district-level status. "So... what'd he talk to you about, Mr. Edgeworth?"

"Nothing too important... Just some pre-trial information, in fact," said Edgeworth with a frown.

"Than why's it got you worried?"

"It's just the way it sounds..." explained Edgeworth matter-of-factly.

Jack was getting more and more confused by the minute. "The way it sounds? What do you mean by that?"

"It's just..." Edgeworth shook his arms about in a futile attempt to explain. "Aaargh! This is far too difficult. Why don't I just let you hear the conversation for yourself?"

"Hear it... for myself?" muttered Jack perplexedly.

In lieu of an explanation, Edgeworth reached into one of his pants pockets and pulled out his cell phone, which he sat on the counter. Amusingly, the phone's plastic shell was the same shade of port-wine as Edgeworth's fancy suit.

"Since I found the call rather odd, I didn't delete the automatic call recording after I had finished. It's still in my phone's memory banks."

"Ah! I get it now!" said Jack excitedly.

Gumshoe, on the other hand, suddenly appeared to be rather worried. "You can record messages on cell phones?" he asked, dumbfounded.

Edgeworth shot Gumshoe an appraising look. "Of course you can, detective!" he exclaimed disdainfully. "In fact, with my phone you have to delete the conversations manually just to get rid of them!"

Gumshoe looked down at the floor and scratched at the back of his head; if anything, he looked more nervous than he had before. "I see, Mr. Edgeworth," he finally mumbled.

Edgeworth, who was busy pushing numerous buttons on his ultra thin phone, merely grunted in the affirmative. "Now... if I adjust the volume to its maximum level, all three of us should be able to hear the conversation..."

Gumshoe moved a seat closer to Edgeworth as he continued to press buttons; Jack placed both his palms against the counter and leaned forward so he could get a better view.

Edgeworth let out a heavy sigh. "The conversation should play when I push this enter button," he said lazily. "Now then..."

**"BEEP!"**

_"Hello?" _Edgeworth's voice was somewhat distorted as it came out of the phone's tiny speaker.

_"Is this Prosecutor Edgeworth of the District City Prosecutor's Office?" _The second voice was crisp and militant, like that of a drill sergeant.

_"Why yes. Yes it is." _Obviously, Edgeworth wasn't one to waste time on complex greeting procedures.

_"Excellent! For a moment there, I was afraid I'd gotten the wrong person! Of course, I dialed the correct number, but still..." _Judging by his blatant rambling, Jack could tell that, in spite of his harsh voice, the second person seemed rather nervous.

_"Humph. If you're done with your little speech, may I ask who is speaking to me?"_

_"Mr. Edgeworth, I'm shocked! Don't you recognize the voice of the Region's Public Prosecutor?"_

The phone fell silent for several seconds, and then... _"Oh! Public Prosecutor Parsons! I'm sorry, sir... with all the static on my end, it's hard for me to be able to tell one person's voice from another!"_

Jack let out a chortle; it was rather obvious from the recording that there was no static on the line at all.

_"That's all right, Mr. Edgeworth, mistakes happen." _Parson let out a laugh of his own, though it sounded rather strained. _"Before you ask, I'm calling you because of the State vs. Fey trial tomorrow morning; I've got several pieces of information you'll find handy before you march into that courtroom!" _Another weak laugh from Parsons, and then an exuberant, _"Isn't that just great?"_

_ "Er, yes," _muttered Edgeworth. _"But wait... you say __**you're**__the one with the information? Isn't that usually a job for your employees?"_

Another pause; Parsons obviously hadn't been expecting that question. _"Well... you see... this is a very important case! We don't want the media to start chewing you up for being unprepared, now do we?"_

_"No offense, sir, but the media can go to hell for all that I care." _Another pause. _"It'll probably be best for me to get as much information on this case as I can, however... What do you have for me, Public Prosecutor?"_

Another long pause. _"Well... here's the thing, Mr. Edgeworth. This new stuff's a bit sensitive, so I can't just tell you over the phone. It'd be best for both of us if we scheduled a pre-trial meeting instead."_

Phone-Edgeworth let out a sigh. _"Very well, Mr. Public Prosecutor. Where would you like to meet? Your office building?"_

_"No, not here!" _shouted Parsons. _"I mean... it's far too crowded here, what with it being Tuesday and all... I've actually reserved a Conference Room for the occasion... it's at the Gatewater Hotel, right in District City."_

_"The Gatewater? But that's where the witness-"_

_"Yes, I know. However, I assure you there are valid reasons for us to have our meeting there. Understand?"_

Another sigh. _"Very well. Can you tell me when the meeting is?"_

_"It's later tonight... 11:00 PM."_

_"11:00 PM?!" _snapped Phone-Edgeworth, shocked. _"Why the... heck would you want to have a meeting so late?"  
_

_"I assure you; the details will be made clear at the meeting. Just make sure you're at the Gatewater before 11:00."_

The cell phone fell silent for a few more seconds before Phone-Edgeworth muttered, _"Fine."_

_"Excellent! Now, before I get back to work, is there anything you wish to ask of me?"_

Phone-Edgeworth answered this question rather quickly. _"It's after 4 P.M., Mr. Public Prosecutor. Have you received the name of the Defense Attorney that I'll be arguing against?"_

Another chuckle from Parsons, somewhat louder than the ones before. _"It's funny you should ask that, Mr. Edgeworth, because I have!"_

_"Well, who is it then?"_

_"Just a second, Mr. Edgeworth, allow me to look it up! Let's see... Ah! It looks like tomorrow's your lucky day, Mr. Edgeworth!"_

_"What do you mean by that?"_

_"Well, it looks like you're going to be facing a newbie attorney, a Mr. Phoenix Wright!"_

_**"KERPLUNK!" **_Jack and Gumshoe both jumped in surprise as a sudden clattering noise pierced the air.

_"Mr. Edgeworth?! Are you alright?!" _Judging by the frantic tone of Mr. Parsons, he hadn't been expecting the noise either.

_"Sorry about that. I dropped my phone." _Edgeworth's voice was suddenly harsh and flat.

_"Well, that's okay, Mr. Edgeworth! Believe you me; I've had that sort of thing happen to me more times than you can count. For example, there was this one time, in law school..."_

_"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but I really need to get back to the investigation. I'll see you at the meeting."_

A pause, and then, _"Oh, very well, Mr. Edgeworth. I understand. Dismissed!"_

**"BEEP!"**

_"Call recorded, September 6__th__, 4:21 P.M." _droned a mechanical voice.

"Is that it, Mr. Edgeworth?" asked Gumshoe.

"Yes. That's the entire call," said Edgeworth, his eyes focused firmly on the empty shot glass before him. "Obviously, the first half is the part that's relevant. I mean, Mr. Parsons is normally a much more confident person... and the details of day to day prosecution are usually dealt with by people far lower on the chain of command! It doesn't make any sense!" Edgeworth smacked his hand against the counter to emphasize his point.

Gumshoe's eyebrows started to dance in thought. "Public Plos... er, Public Prosecutor Parker... Proctor... Plum-popper... **that guy** sounded really weird, Mr. Edgeworth!" He looked at Jack, an eager smile on his face. "Don't you think so too, pal?"

"I'm a bit more interested about the end of the conversation, myself," said Jack slowly. Having gotten confirmation that Mr. Wright was acting as Maya Fey's defense attorney, he knew he had to tell Edgeworth about his problem regarding the matter.

Edgeworth let out a sigh of irritation. "That's just like you, isn't it, Jack? You're never able to focus at the matter at hand."

"What you call a lack of focus I call thinking differently, Mr. Edgeworth," retorted Jack, slightly insulted. "I just noticed that something I heard at the end of that conversation seemed... odd."

Discontented, Edgeworth shook his head. "What is it, Mr. Keeper?" he asked reluctantly.

"According to that conversation you recorded, the Defense attorney is Mr. Phoenix Wright, right?"

Edgeworth crossed his arms. "Yes..."

"However, one of the few facts I managed to squeeze out of Detective Gumshoe here is that Mr. Wright was also at the crime scene when he arrested Maya Fey. Is that right?"

Edgeworth shot Gumshoe an irritated glare before muttering, "That is also correct."

"And therein lies the problem," said Jack, smacking a palm against the bar counter. "If Mr. Wright saw the defendant at the scene of the crime, what _possible reason _would he have to try and defend her?! If anything, he should be _your _witness!"

Jack was rewarded with the rare sight of Miles Edgeworth's eyes widening in surprise. "Just what are you implying, Mr. Keeper?" he asked coldly.

"Well... you see... Ever since I heard about Maya Fey's arrest on the news last night, this whole case hasn't been sitting right with me. And now that I've learned about some of the facts, the feeling's getting even worse," said Jack haltingly.

"So?"

Jack took a deep breath and nervously ran a hand through his hair; he knew that Edgeworth wasn't going to take his next statement very well. "I... I no longer believe that Maya Fey murdered her sister."

Edgeworth's reaction didn't disappoint. _"What?! _You can not possibly be serious, Mr. Keeper!"

Jack's lips twitched in an ironic smile. "I'm sorry, Mr. Edgeworth, but that's the only conclusion that makes any sense to me."

Gumshoe sent Jack a disbelieving glare. "How can you say that, Jack?! There's a witness, and evidence, and everything!" He waved his arms wildly in an attempt to prove his point.

"That's true, but you yourself said the witness didn't really see the defendant from up close, Detective." Jack rebutted smoothly. Turning to Edgeworth, he added, "And you, Mr. Edgeworth, told me that she was an 'idiot'; a flirty woman who probably still doesn't know the difference between a contradiction and a contraceptive." Chuckling at his wry joke, he added, "Obviously, it doesn't sound as though she should have a very big impact on the judge."

"But, Jack, you're forgetting about the evidence!" whined Gumshoe.

"No offense, detective, but I haven't heard one thing about evidence in this case except the fact it supposedly exists. It's rather odd how not the slightest bit of information regarding evidence is getting out; it's almost as if someone's trying to cover up the fact that no solid proof exists..."

Edgeworth cut off Jack's rant by slamming an angry hand against the bar. "No solid proof, Mr. Keeper?!" he spat in disbelief. "For God's sake, the victim wrote down the killer's name!"

Jack jumped backward as if he had been slapped. "What... what did you just say, Mr. Edgeworth?" he asked weakly.

Edgeworth looked even more irate than before. "Mr. Keeper, it's rather obvious that I just told you..." he trailed off as he realized what he'd just revealed. **"AAARGH!!!"**

"'AAARGH!' is right, Mr. Edgeworth," said Gumshoe, shaking his head sadly. "You told me that piece of evidence was the biggest secret of all, sir."

"What piece of evidence?" asked Jack; his mind a maelstrom of curiosity and confusion.

Edgeworth glared at Jack for several seconds before letting out a large sigh and muttering, "Might as well show you... you're going to force it out of me anyway."

Edgeworth leaned over in his chair, lifted his large black briefcase up off the floor, and slammed it against the bar counter. After making sure that Jack wouldn't be able to see inside, he deftly flipped it open, rummaged through the contents, and pulled out a single sheet of glossy paper. Sitting the paper face down next to him, he closed the briefcase with a snap and quietly returned it to its spot on the floor.

"Well?" asked Jack eagerly.

"This is a photograph of the key piece of evidence," Edgeworth said dully. "Detective Gumshoe here found it next to... the victim's body." Shaking his head in dismay, he uprighted the picture and slid it across the bar counter.

Jack let out a gasp as he laid eyes on the picture, despite the fact that the subject was a mere scrap of paper and much smaller than the photograph itself. Upon the scrap was the single word 'Maya'; despite the fact that the image was grayscale, Jack could clearly tell that the name had been written in blood. Jack leaned against the bar and stared at it for nearly a minute before asking, "What does this mean?"

"The meaning of this evidence is obvious," said Edgeworth, his voice oddly considerate. "After... the victim received her fatal wound, she used the last of her strength to write out the name of her killer. As she was in no condition to search for pen and paper, she accomplished this task with the only writing utensils she had: the back of this old receipt and her own blood. It was this piece of evidence that allowed Detective Gumshoe here to arrest the proper killer."

Jack remained silent as he attempted to digest this new information. A couple of awkward minutes latter, he finally managed to ask, "So the blood is definitely Ms. Fey's?"

Edgeworth nodded. "Yes. The blood tests came in earlier this afternoon; there's no doubt that it belongs to Ms. Fey. The same blood was also found on her right index finger."

"And she wrote this... after she was wounded?"

"Of course. There's no other way she could have written something in her own blood."

_Makes sense, _thought Jack wryly. _But... if she wrote Maya's name down after she was wounded, that means... _Jack suddenly stood up straight and spun to face Gumshoe, his eyes wide with shock.

"Are you alright, pal?" Gumshoe asked concernedly. Noticing that Jack was still staring at him, he gave his trench coat a nervous tug. "Pal?"

"When I asked you about the circumstances of Ms. Fey's death earlier, I didn't want you to lie to me," Jack growled menacingly.

Gumshoe looked visibly shaken. "W-when did I lie to you about that, Jack?" he stammered.

"You told me earlier that her death was instant. It's rather obvious from this 'critical evidence' of yours that her death couldn't have been instant."

"B-but her death **was** instant! It says so in the autopsy report!"

'_Am I the only person that sees the obvious?!' _thought Jack impatiently. Moving the evidence picture to a place that Gumshoe could see it, he tapped his finger against the word 'Maya' and sputtered, "If Ms. Fey died the instant she was injured,_ how the hell did she write down her sisters name?!"_

Gumshoe was starting to shake under the pressure of his bartender's verbal attack. "I... I... _I don't know how, okay, pal?!" _he roared. Visibly struggling to contain himself, he spun 90 degrees on his barstool and gave Edgeworth a pleading stare. "You tell him how, Mr. Edgeworth."

Breathing heavily to calm himself down, Jack took two lateral steps so he could again look at Edgeworth face-to-face. "You're the prosecutor, Mr. Edgeworth. Do _you_ know how this is possible?" he asked sharply.

Edgeworth chuckled and shrugged elaborately. "It's rather obvious, isn't it, Mr. Keeper? In his efforts to make you feel better, Detective Gumshoe obviously made an error in reading the autopsy report. If you will give me but one minute to check my own copy..."

Edgeworth reopened his briefcase and extracted another sheet of white paper, this one thick and officious in appearance. Smiling benignly, he sat it flat against the wood of the bar counter and leaned forward so that he could read.

"Let's see here," he muttered softly as his eyes slid down the page. "Time of death... 9:00 PM... Cause of death... That checks out... Death was..." Edgeworth's commentary suddenly ceased as he stared at one specific spot on the page, his eyebrows knitted in obvious disbelief.

"Is there something wrong, Mr. Edgeworth?" asked Gumshoe warily.

"'Victim's died immediately?' This can't be possible..." whispered Edgeworth, his face contorted into a painful snarl. Without even looking up from the paper, he snatched the evidence picture from Gumshoe and started tapping his finger against the two objects in an attempt to make a comparison. "If I'm seeing what I think I'm seeing..."

"Then...?" asked Jack enthusiastically.

Edgeworth smashed a fist against the table and started gritting his teeth in frustration. "Then... Damn it! This is a contradiction so obvious a ten-year-old child could see through it!"

"Hey! I hardly consider myself to be a ten-year-old child!" whined Jack, his hands on his hips.

"My apologies, Jack," said Edgeworth, clearly distracted as he continued to stare at his conflicting evidence. "This definitely changes things," he muttered softly.

At the sound of those words, a faint flutter of hope stirred in Jack's stomach. Making sure to keep his voice from sounding too loud or forceful, he asked, "Does this mean you're going to drop the case, Mr. Edgeworth?"

Edgeworth's head snapped up in an instant; he sent Jack a distinctly cock-eyed glare. "Excuse me? What did you just say?" he asked incredulously.

Jack wiped a bead of sweat off of his forehead. "I... I just asked you if you were going to drop the case."

"Really? And what makes you think I would do something as radical as that?"

Jack shuttered at Edgeworth's sudden coldness, but knew he had to press on. Waving a hand across the picture and paper on the bar before him, he stated, "These things conflict with each other. You just admitted that yourself. If Ms. Fey died without having time to write anything down, then... then someone else would have had to written that message!"

"Someone else, pal?" Gumshoe was gritting his teeth and breathing heavily again; apparently he could remain silent no longer. "Tell me, Jack, who would this 'someone else' be?"

Jack smiled; even for someone not in the legal profession, that was a rather easy question. "Isn't it obvious, detective? The person who wrote that message must have been... _the real killer!"_

Edgeworth stared at Jack for about a second before he broke into exuberant laughter. Logically, both Jack and Gumshoe turned and stared at him as if he were losing his mind.

"This is hardly the right time to be amused, Mr. Edgeworth," hissed Jack indignantly.

Edgeworth slowly regained his composure and looked across the bar with a neutral expression. "I'm sorry, Mr. Keeper, that was rather rude of me. It's just that your explanation was so... quaint! I mean... 'The real killer'? It sounds like a phrase one would hear in a crime drama, not everyday life."

Jack nodded sourly; upon reflection he too realized that his statement seemed somewhat inane. On the other hand... "Quaint as it may sound, I'm still pretty sure that Maya Fey wouldn't have written her own name down in her sister's blood. Only someone trying to frame her would write that... right?"

Edgeworth smirked and tapped a finger against his temple. "It's a slim possibility, but I'm simply afraid it's not one worthy of dismissing the entire case," said Edgeworth seriously.

Jack's jaw nearly hit the floor in shock. "_Slim _possibility? It's the _only possibility!" _he bellowed.

Edgeworth merely smiled. "You are jumping to conclusions, Mr. Keeper. There is another way."

Jack tilted his head skeptically.

"Your theory only makes sense if you assume both of these pieces of evidence are correct. However, there's a considerable probability that one of them isn't."

"Yeah!" chimed in Gumshoe. "Like... Maya meant to write someone else's name on that paper, but she wrote her own by mistake! I do that all the time on suspect reports, pal!"

Jack shook his head sadly as he wondered how Gumshoe managed to keep himself from getting arrested every other week.

Edgeworth, on the other hand, merely sighed and shook his head in the negative. "I'm sorry, detective, but you've got the wrong idea. The problem obviously lies with this." He handed Gumshoe the legal document.

Gumshoe scratched his head in puzzlement. "The autopsy report? What could be wrong with that?"

"If Maya Fey committed the crime you arrested her for, detective, her sister _must _have had enough time to write down the name of her killer. There is no other reasonable explanation."

"And that means...?"

"There's a very good chance that this report is... inaccurate."

Jack was stunned. "Mr. Edgeworth, this report is one of the key pieces of evidence in your trial tomorrow! How can it be inaccurate?!"

"Mistakes happen, Jack. The..." Edgeworth paused as he searched for a word. "The _pathologists _in charge of autopsies are under a lot of pressure, what with our modern initial trial system and all. It's actually rather likely that someone missed some sort of sign that Mia Fey did not die an instant death."

Jack nodded slowly; loathe as he was to admit it, Edgeworth did have a point.

Gumshoe, on the other hand, still seemed rather confused. "If this report here is wrong, what are you going to do about it, Mr. Edgeworth sir?"

Edgeworth paused before his face broke into yet another smirk. "Well... I don't exactly trust my driving abilities right now... so what _you _are going to do is drive _me _back to the police station. If we get there fast enough, we should be able to have another autopsy preformed before tomorrow morning."

Jack blinked rapidly in surprise. "_Another _autopsy, Mr. Edgeworth? Isn't that a little extreme?!"

Edgeworth sat up straighter atop his barstool. "You should know by now that I'll do anything to get my verdict, Mr. Keeper."

"I know; I know..." muttered Jack dismissively. Indeed, Edgeworth's penchant for going out of his way to find conclusive evidence had earned him quite a reputation in the District City legal system, albeit at the expense of his reputation in the District City press. Speaking of the press... "You do know that a second autopsy report will... er, seem a lot like a dirty trick if you happen to use it," added Jack tentatively.

Edgeworth looked pensive for a moment before murmuring, "That is true, Jack. However, it would be foolish of me to worry about my image outside of court."

"What about your image inside the court? The judge won't accept evidence if he thinks it's incorrect."

Edgeworth looked taken aback. "That is also a valid point." He then turned ninety degrees in his chair. "Detective Gumshoe?"

"Yes, Mr. Edgeworth, sir?"

"If the second autopsy works out and the court finds it suspicious, I may be forced to blame the investigation. If this happens, just act as you typically would, all right?"

Gumshoe paused a moment before nodding. "Yes, sir, Mr. Edgeworth, sir! Anything for the case, sir!"

Edgeworth smiled. "Thanks, detective." He put his evidence back inside his briefcase, extracted a single banknote from his suit pocket, and slid it across the bar towards Jack. "This belongs to you," he stated evenly. "You may keep all of it."

Jack gasped in astonishment at the sight of the money. "Mr. Edgeworth... this is a hundred-dollar bill! Y-your drinks didn't even cost twenty!"

"I know," said Edgeworth, smirking. "However, there's a decent chance I might have... lost tomorrow's case had it not been for your continuously irksome meddling." He paused to flash a small smile. "Consider that my thanks for your... help."

"Er... you're welcome," muttered Jack awkwardly. Looking back up, he noticed that Gumshoe was staring at Edgeworth with an indignant look on his face.

"You know, Mr. Edgeworth, I helped too, and I don't see me getting any fancy tips!" he huffed.

Edgeworth didn't look the slightest bit phased. "I know you helped, detective, and believe me, I am grateful. The last time I checked, however, a prosecutor handing his detective money under the table is the textbook example of a _bribe. _You aren't asking me for a bribe, are you?"

Gumshoe's mouth opened in shock. "A bribe? No, sir! I... I... would never ask for that, sir!"

Edgeworth smiled. "That's what I thought. Now lead me to your car... we need to get to the station as soon as we can."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Edgeworth, sir!" stammered Gumshoe, clearly relieved. "Farewell, Jack!"

"Farewell, Detective Gumshoe," said Jack, trying not to smile. He shook his head as he watched Gumshoe nearly sprinted across the bar and out the door, Edgeworth trailing in his wake.

After the bar door slammed shut, Jack looked down at Edgeworth's money and sighed.

"I guess I was a big help..." he mused to himself. "However, I don't think I really wanted to be."

Shaking his head in dismay, Jack slipped his reward into his trusty old cash register and tiredly sat in his reliable old chair.

"I've learned so much... but I just can't think right now," he announced sadly. "Perhaps another go at that high score will cure what ails me..."

And with that, Jack reached into his pocket, pulled out his old two-screen machine, opened it up, and started to play.

* * *

**A/N: **Before I say anything else, let me note that Sonic the Hedgehog is the property of Sonic Team and that I don't own him either. Of course, I don't use his name in the fic; but the allusion is clear enough. 

Before I end this fickle author's note, I believe that there are two things in the text above that I should explain further for your benefit. In chronological order, they are:

**Who the hell is Peter Parsons?: **Peter Parsons, the fifth or sixth OC to pop up in this admittedly OC-heavy fiction, is District City's Public Prosecutor, a position that is basically one rank above that of Lana Skye. Parsons actually appears in the canon game; I based him off of the weak-willed man that Redd White badgers over the intercom right before Phoenix Wright's arrest. I know that Redd White refers to that man as the "Chief Prosecutor", but that is a mistranslation; I'm fairly sure he and Lana Skye are two separate public officials. (Before GS1-2 Trial Day 2, Edgeworth says he got a call from the "Public Prosecutor's Office", after all). I will admit that I used a lot of creative license in expanding his character, but I believe that making him out to be not a sniveling desk jockey but a blackmailed military man makes this fiction more interesting without seriously hurting the canon story. Look for him to be moderately important throughout the entirety of this case.

**Am I making Jack too smart?: **I will admit, making Jack spot the contradiction between the two pieces of Case 2 evidence before Edgeworth could was a very... clichéd move on my part, but I couldn't think of any better way to write the story behind that particular contradiction. In spite of the fact that this obviously an OC-centric missing moments story, I promise that I will try to prevent Jack from becoming a Sue that outshines the canon characters at every single turn. In fact, I can only think of one other place in this story where Jack helps Edgeworth out with a piece of evidence, and that's late in Case 5, under vastly different circumstances.

Well, that's about all I have to say for this update; be sure to keep an eye out (or an alert in place) for Episode II, Part 3, in which a heavy-hearted Marvin Grossberg makes his first-ever Gavel appearance.

Peace out, reader dudes. Whoop!

-DSL


	8. Ep II Part 3: Gross Despair

**Note: **Phoenix Wright / Gyakuten Saiban, its settings, plot points, and characters, are all the property of Capcom, and are being used here without permission. This chapter takes place well after the first investigation phase of GS1 Case 2; Spoilers for that case and references to GS1-1 and GS3-1.

**Episode II: A Toast to the Sisters**

_Part 3: Gross Despair_

**September 6****th****, 2016, 8:57 PM**

Jack sighed as he stared down the length of his wooden pool cue. "Concentrate...," he whispered as he painstakingly aligned the brown leather tip with the center of the shiny white sphere. Drawing the stick back an inch, he announced, "Four-ball, in the corner pocket."

**Clack!** The cue ball jumped, rolled across the smooth, green table, missed the purple number four ball by several inches, and smoothly fell into the aforementioned corner pocket with a thump.

Donny Docket chuckled loudly as he looked down upon the pocketed cue. "That's two scratches in two turns, Jack," he said matter-of-factly. "That's pretty damn lousy, even for _you."_

Jack leaned his cue stick against the side of the Gavel's pool table and crossed his arms. "You know I'm not good at this game," he grumbled. "I wouldn't even be playing with you if I weren't trying to keep my mind off Ms. Fey's... passing."

Donny nodded seriously as he fished the cue ball out the pocket and placed it back on the table. "I know what you mean," he said sadly. "Miss Mia was... quite the woman. Makes me wish we'd parted on better terms." He grimaced as he leaned forward and aimed his next shot. "Four ball; side pocket."

**Clack! **The cue ball leapt forward and hit the purple ball dead-on; it made a loud smacking sound as it flew into the shallow hole.

"Hah hah!" yelled Donny, pumping his fist in celebration. "Did you see that, Jack? Perfection!"

"Yeah, perfection..." muttered Jack distantly. He stared at the six balls still left upon the table and sighed again.

"You alright, Jack?"

"Not really." Jack paused and scratched at his head. "It's still kind of hard for me to believe she's gone," he muttered.

Donny merely stared at his friend for a few seconds before letting out a sigh of his own. "Guess I can't blame you for feeling blue," he said softly. "Miss Mia always was one of your favorites... especially after... you know."

"I know," said Jack sullenly.

Donny nodded, leaned forward and again looked down the shaft of his pool cue. "Five ball; corner pocket," he announced.

**Clack! **Jack watched as the white ball rolled forward, bounced off one of the table's cushioned sides, and lazily made contact with the ball marked "5". Upon being struck, the orange sphere lazily slid several inches and fell inside the corner pocket with a dull clunk.

"Another one down," said Donny, his voice much less enthusiastic than it had been but a single ball earlier.

Jack merely stared at the side wall; his thoughts were once again focused on Mia's death and the strange events of earlier that day. He was just about to chance a look downward when something dull made contact with the small of his back. Startled, he jumped and wheeled around only to find that Donny had prodded him with the end of his pool cue.

"You're not the easiest person to get the attention of, are you?" he asked, smirking.

Jack merely shook his head and sighed. "Guess I'm not..." he muttered tonelessly.

Donny frowned before fixing Jack with a knowing glare. "Alright... what's eating at you?"

Jack took a step backwards from Donny and raised his eyebrows. "Eating at me?"

"Yeah!" snapped Donny, waving his free arm about. "You know... what's bothering you; what's the problem?"

Jack resisted the urge to growl in frustration. "I thought I already told you what the 'problem' was, _Don._"

If anything, Donny's glare only got more intense. "No you didn't," he said softly.

Jack started to absently twirl at his hair. "What makes you think that?"

Donny's face contorted into an amused smirk. "I know you all too well, Jack," he said simply. "If you're feeling blue about something, you act sad, but you keep yourself in the game." Donny paused and absently tugged at his shirt collar. "However, when you start acting all spacey and quiet... that means you're worried about something."

_Looks like I should give Donny more credit, _Jack thought bemusedly. "Alright, you win, Don. I _am _worried about something," he said, looking his friend in the eye.

"Score one for the Don-man! Do I know you or what?" shouted Donny, his eyes sparkling in triumph.

In spite of himself, Jack cracked a smile. "You sure do, Mr. Docket," he said mockingly. Pointing at the pool table, he added, "Now, why don't you... how did you put it? 'Get back in the game' over there, and I'll tell you what the problem is."

Donny gave a mocking bow. "If you insist..."

Jack laughed and moved away from the pool table; Donny immediately moved to the nearby edge and started to line up his next shot.

"Now then," said Donny smoothly. "While I continue to clean your clock in 9-ball, you just tell me everything that's troubling you. I assure you, Dr. Docket will help you cure all. Oh, and six ball, in the side pocket."

**Clack! **The cue ball rolled a third of the length of the table before striking the six-ball off-center. The green sphere, like the orange one before it, rolled directly to the nearest pocket and fell in as if it had been acting under orders.

"Excellent as always, Don," said Jack grandiosely.

"Yeah, yeah. How about less brown-nosing and more gut-spilling, please," said Donny curtly.

Jack shook his head in amusement. "Fine." He paused and took a deep breath. "Basically, I'm worried about what's going to happen in the murder trial tomorrow."

Donny let out a light snort. "That's it?! And here I thought it was something serious!"

"Are you saying murder trials aren't serious?" Jack blurted with a glare.

Donny jumped and shook his head furiously in the negative. "No way, José! It's just... I mean... Mr. E's going to be doing the prosecuting tomorrow! There's no way he's going to lose!"

Now it was Jack's turn to shake his head. "Wait, that's not what I'm..."

"Now, now, Jack, I know that you and Miss Mia were really close," continued Donny, completely oblivious to his friend's protest. "It's understandable that _you _of all people should be worried about whether or not her backstabbing sister receives justice."

"B-but..."

"No buts. I'm sure Mr. E will be able to pull of the guilty verdict. After all, he always does..."

"But..."

"Always," repeated Donny, cutting off Jack once again. "Seven-ball, corner pocket."

As Donny drew back to take the shot, Jack blurted out, "But that's exactly what I _don't _want to happen!"

**Clack! **Donny flinched violently and struck the cue ball at an odd angle; it jumped into the air, bounced several times, rolled a few pitiful inches along the felt of the table, and lolled into the maroon seven-ball with just the slightest amount of force before coming to a complete stop.

"Looks like you're losing your touch," said Jack absently.

Donny paid his bad shot little mind. "What do you mean, you don't want that to happen?! Are you saying that you want Miss Mia's killer to damn well get away?!"

"Hell no!" shouted Jack, slamming a hand against the edge of the pool table. "It's just that I don't think the 'killer' and Maya Fey are the same person!"

Donny's mouth dropped open; he cupped a hand around one ear as if he was unable to hear properly. "How can you seriously believe that? Have you even _bothered _to read the papers today?!"

Jack sighed inwardly; Donny was obviously even more dependant on the newspapers then Gumshoe had been. Deciding to cut his friend off at the pass, he stated, "Yes, I read a newspaper today, and quite frankly it didn't tell me much of anything."

Donny placed a hand against his hip in indignation. "If that's the case, what makes you think you've got the right opinion?"

For once, Jack had a solid answer. "Well, you see, I happened to serve both Mr. Edgeworth _and _Detective Gumshoe earlier today. With a little prodding, they were more than willing to let some inside information slip."

Once again, Donny looked stunned. "Really? What'd they tell you?!" he demanded childishly.

"All in due time, Donny, all in due time," said Jack cryptically. "Seven-ball, in the corner pocket."

**Clack! **Since they were touching, all of the energy in Jack's shot immediately went to the dark red ball, which rolled across the table at an insane pace, missed the corner pocket by less than three inches, and proceeded to bounce off of all four cushions before coming to a halt just a few inches away from where it started.

Jack let out a chuckle. "Well, at least I was close that time," he said wryly.

Donny paid even less attention to Jack's bad shot then he did to his own. "Who cares?" he blurted eagerly. "I want to hear what Mr. E and 'Tective G told you!"

Jack frowned and crossed his arms. "Sorry, Don, but they let me know that information because they trusted me not to blab about it. It would be... foolish of me to break that trust by giving you all the details."

Donny glared at Jack for a few seconds before looking downward in defeat. "I guess so..." he muttered sadly. "Still, if you want me to stop believing the big, bad newspapers, you're going to have to tell me _something _about what you've learned."

The corner of Jack's mouth twitched up amusedly; he was starting to get a very good idea of what Edgeworth and Gumshoe had been feeling when he pressed them for information earlier in the day. "Well..." he muttered slowly, "...let's just say the case against little Ms. Fey is a lot weaker then the papers claim."

Donny sent Jack a puzzled look as he absently rubbed a cube of blue chalk against the tip of his cue. "What makes you say that?"

Jack spun his cue in a lazy circle as he contemplated how much he should let his friend know. Reaching a decision, he began, "First of all, there only appears to be one witness testifying about the crime."

"So? The courts have handed out plenty of guilties after one-witness trials. Seven-ball; corner pocket."

**Clack! **The cue ball quickly rolled forward several inches and slammed into the seven-ball, which flew to the corner pocket and fell in without the slightest hesitation. Donny sent Jack a sly grin as he waited for his response.

"What you say is true," acknowledged Jack with a nod. "However, this witness only saw the crime from a rather long distance away, in a place where... his or her view was restricted."

Donny nodded as he prepared for his next shot. "I guess that does make the case seem a bit off," he admitted. "But the newspaper also said there was lots of hard evidence against Miss Maya. Do you have to say anything about that?"

Carefully choosing his words, Jack replied, "I've heard about a few pieces of evidence. However, the case isn't quite as solid as the media would like you to believe."

"C'mon!" whined Donny, waving a hand dismissively. "How bad could it be?"

"Well, for one thing, two of the pieces of evidence Edgeworth showed me didn't make sense when put together. He didn't even notice it until I pointed it out to him," said Jack amusedly.

Donny's mouth opened once again in surprise. "_Y-you _had to point something out to _Mr. E?_ That's crazy!"

"Tell me about it," said Jack dismissively. "You should have seen the look on his face when he noticed what was wrong; he went from calm to freaking out in less than ten seconds. Then again, that's also about how long it took him to come up with a theory that worked in his favor..."

Donny shot Jack an appraising look. "Well, if that's the case, the papers might not be so wrong after all. Eight-ball, in the side pocket."

**Clink! **Donny's power shot caused the cue to leap forward, ricochet against both of the long side cushions, and knock the black 8-ball into the nearest pocket in the space of just two seconds.

As the cue ball halted near the exact center of the pool table, Donny let out an appreciative whistle. "Not bad..." he said softly. "And it looks like I've got myself a fairly decent set-up to close the match." Indeed, the yellow and white 9-ball was almost directly in-line with the cue ball and one of the corner pockets.

"That is true," said Jack serenely. "If only my doubts about tomorrow's case were as easy to eliminate as the balls on this billiard table..."

"Whoa, Jack, don't start getting all technological on me now!" exclaimed Donny, waving his arms. "There's nothing you can do about that! If Miss Maya killed Miss Mia, the judge will find her guilty. If she didn't kill her, she won't. That's all there is to it."

Jack leaned back and shook his hair out of his face. "I know, I know," he said dismissively. "It's just... the prosecution's got Mr. Edgeworth arguing the case, but little Ms. Fey's only got the rookie lawyer Mr. Wright on her side. It hardly seems fair, especially with all the pressure the courts put on defense attorneys these days."

Donny nodded before casting his face into a weary smirk. "What'll happen, will happen. If that girl really is innocent, the defense will find a way to prove it." He scratched at his head before lifting his cue and starting to prepare his final shot. "Besides, you know what the politicians say: 'Swift and harsh justice is the key to law and order.'"

"But-"

"But nothing, Jack," said Donny, aligning his final shot. "Nine ball in the corner pocket for the win."

Irate at Donny's dismissal, Jack blurted, "This isn't a high-school kiddy court we're talking about, _Don_! Would you really be okay with an innocent girl dying for the sake of 'law and order'?!"

**CLACK! **Donny struck the cue ball with incredible force; the white sphere missed the striped 9-ball by a fraction of an inch, bounced off of three successive cushions, and plunged into one of the table's two side pockets with the all the dignity and grace of a miniature bomb.

Staring at the pocketed cue ball in dismay, Donny let out a loud groan. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?" he muttered darkly.

Jack's rolled his eyes. "Maybe... on a subconscious level, at least," he said sheepishly. "However, that doesn't make my question any more irrelevant, now does it?"

Donny let out a heavy sigh. "No, it doesn't."

Jack let out a calculating grin; he knew Donny was now taking the issue seriously. "Well...?"

Donny placed a finger against his chin. "I guess I didn't think about it that way. When you're innocent, the system really sucks," he said thoughtfully.

"It sure does," replied Jack with a satisfied nod.

"You have ball-in-hand, Jack," Donny quipped abruptly.

Jack's eyebrows rose clear to his hairline. "Excuse me...?" he asked awkwardly.

"You know, ball-in-hand. You can place the cue ball anywhere on the table." Absently, Donny glanced at the striped nine-ball, which was about a foot and a half from the nearest corner pocket. "Despite your clear lack of skill, you should be able to win this game easily."

Jack placed a hand against his forehead in surprise. "Me? Win the game? Wow..." he muttered softly.

"Believe me, Jack, I'm just as surprised as you are," said Donny amusedly. "Now, are you going to put the cue ball back on the table, or am I going to start prodding you again?" He smiled and raised the end of his pool cue threateningly.

"No, I'll put the ball on the table," stammered Jack, raising his hands in self-defense. Ignoring Donny's smirk, he plucked the white ball out of the pocket and stared at the table for a moment before sitting it down just three inches away from the 9-ball, which was itself two feet away from the nearest pocket.

"Looks like a cinch, Jack. Don't screw it up for once," said Donny teasingly.

"I won't screw it up if you keep your big yap shut," retorted Jack. Taking a deep breath, he leaned over the side of the table and started to carefully aim his shot.

"Concentrate...," he whispered, making sure the cue was placed in the perfect position. Once he was finished, he announced, "Nine ball; in the corner pocket." His heart pounding, he drew the pool cue back, and...

**"Ah-HHHHEM!"**

**CLACK! **Startled at the sudden loud noise, Jack's shot went awry; the cue ball jumped over the nine and fell clear off the edge of the table. Jack watched in shock as the white sphere bounced along the floor, ricocheted off one of the legs of the pinball machine, and bounced off the door to the Gavel's tiny bathroom before coming to a halt.

Donny was amused to say the least. "That reminds me, I have to use the can," he stated, his face contorted with surprised laughter. "I'll leave you to talk to Big G there."

_Big G? _Confused and irate, Jack spun around on one foot and found himself staring at an elderly man with a round face, bushy mustache, and short gray hair slicked back behind his head. His extremely heavyset body was clad in an expensive orange suit, which slowly moved up and down with the force of its owner's heavy breathing.

_Oh, that 'Big G'... _Jack thought absently. "Good evening, Mr. Grossberg," he greeted, a sigh of resignation barely escaping his lips.

Marvin Grossberg didn't react to Jack's greeting; his mind was clearly elsewhere. It was in that moment that Jack noticed how downtrodden the veteran defense attorney looked: his head was tilted downward; his lips formed a tired frown; his eyes were closed and unseeing.

"Mr. Grossberg?" asked Jack, his voice infused with sudden concern.

Grossberg's head snapped upward; he'd obviously heard his name this time. "Oh, hello there, Mr. Barkeeper," he stammered in his gravelly baritone voice. "You are looking well."

Jack nodded. "Thank you. You are looking... uh..." He frantically cast his mind around for an adjective that was both true and not offensive. "Uh..."

To Jack's surprise, Grossberg let out a weak chuckle. "It's all right, my boy. I haven't been feeling my best today; you don't have to mince words with me about it." Grossberg's head snapped downward again as he let out a sigh.

Jack also gazed downward as he felt a burst of empathy for the old man; he had been Mia's mentor several years ago and it was rather understandable that he would be saddened by her death. Returning his gaze upward, he tapped Grossberg on the shoulder and said, "It's alright, sir, I haven't been feeling too great either. If you follow me to the bar, I'll buy you a drink."

Grossberg looked down his nose in confusion. "But what of your little billiard game?"

Jack waved a dismissive hand. "Ah, I've already lost that," he said uncaringly. "Just come along."

Not waiting for Grossberg's answer, Jack strode across the bar floor and made his way to his traditional spot behind the bar counter. Jack absently leaned forward on the much-used piece of furniture as he watched his customer slowly waddle his way across the room.

"I never cared too much for these barstools," Grossberg grumbled as he struggled to sit on top of one. "They're far too small and unsteady... they inflame my hemorrhoids and pain my buttocks so."

Jack grimaced slightly; Grossberg had always been a bit too... revealing when it came those particular parts of his body. Shaking his head to clear it of any disturbing thoughts, Jack asked, "What'll you have, Mr. Grossberg?"

"Just one of those premium beers," said Grossberg unhesitatingly. "Tonight, I have no need for anything fancy."

"Er, understood," said Jack levelly as he grabbed a mug and headed for the taps. Deciding now was the best time to acknowledge the elephant in the barroom, he added, "I'm really sorry to hear what happened to Ms. Fey. She was a rather special person."

Grossberg sighed heavily. "She sure was," he said after a slight hesitation. "Undoubtedly the best protégé I've ever had the honor of teaching. I always assumed she would be the one to carry on my legacy after I passed on... never thought that I would outlive her." Grossberg sighed again before lapsing into silence.

Jack couldn't think of a decent response to such a heavy statement, so he merely handed Grossberg his beer with the smallest of smiles.

"Thank you," Grossberg returned, before taking a monumental swig of the beverage.

As a faint flush echoed in the background, Donny exited the restroom, stared at the abandoned pool table for a moment, and marched up to the bar with a determined expression on his face.

"Hey! Aren't we going to finish the game?!" he asked, placing his hands on his hips in indignation.

Jack shook his head; this was hardly the time to still be worrying about pool. "Go finish it yourself," said Jack simply. "You've already won."

Donny looked, if anything, more insulted. "Yeah, but a victory in nine-ball doesn't count if there's no one else to see it!"

"But..."

"It'll only take a minute, Jack! I'm sure Big G won't mind..." He stepped over to Grossberg and poked him in the shoulder. "Won't you, Big G?"

"Huh? What?" stammered Grossberg; his confusion obvious.

Jack frowned in disapproval; he was going to have to use tact if he wanted Donny to see the obvious. "Sorry, Don," he stated neutrally. "We were just talking about Ms. Mia... you know, Grossberg's former student? They used to be rather close, back in the day..."

Donny's eyes grew wide. "Miss Mia? But she just... oh." Jack smiled as his friend's face grew red; Donny had just gotten the point loud and clear.

"Would you like to join us?" asked Jack, his voice now sticky with false innocence.

"Yeah... sure Jack," muttered Donny, his gaze directed downward.He perched himself on the barstool immediately before him and gave Mr. Grossberg a sympathetic grin. "Sorry about my rudeness, Big G," he said solemnly. "I'm not always right in the head, you know."

Grossberg gave Donny a serious gaze in return. "It's quite all right, Mister..."

"Docket," supplied Donny. "I'm Donny Docket; I keep guard over the old parking garage here during the daytime shift. Don't you remember?"

"Oh... of course I remember, Mr., er... Guard." Grossberg nodded confidently before taking another swig of beer.

Donny opened his mouth to retort but shut it again upon noticing Jack's warning glare. Raising a hand to show he understood, he instead asked, "How are you doing?"

Grossberg swigged his beer before replying, "Not so well. As I told your friend Mr. Barkeeper earlier, this has been a rather unexpected shock for me."

Donny gave a jerky nod. "S'alright, Big G. I don't think anyone could have seen something this... _screwed up _happening."

Grossberg's eyes shifted to his mug. "No, no one could have..." he muttered absently.

"And Miss Mia was the type of girl any man would like. For example, Jack here _was_ really close to her." Donny's turned his head so he was staring his friend in the face. "Isn't that right, Jack?"

Jack glared at Donny for a moment before responding. "Yeah, that's right. She didn't come in here very often, but it was always a blast when she did. I remember when I first met her..."

At that moment, Donny slammed his hand against the table, effectively interrupting his friend's tirade. Pointing a finger at Grossberg's half-filled beer mug, he stated, "Sorry, Jack, but if you're going to go off on one of your super-duper memory monologues, you'd better get me one of those first."

Jack let out a chuckle: he did have a tendency to ramble about the past, and Donny had to deal with it more often than anyone else. "Very well, Don," he said with a smile.

As he grabbed another beer mug, he began, "The first time I saw Ms. Fey was just over three years ago; a week or so after I'd started tending this bar. You see, I was in a pretty crummy mood that day."

Grossberg looked up from his drink in mild interest. "You don't say... May I ask why?"

Jack pondered the question as he filled Donny's mug with beer and suds. "Well, back then, I still hadn't gotten used to the fact that I would be serving only a rather small number of customers on a regular basis. I didn't know what to do with myself when there was no one else around. Plus, I didn't really know any of the prosecutors or police officials too well, so even when I did have customers, the conversations were rather awkward. And on top of that, everyone kept comparing me to the old bartender, Mr. Busman. I mean, don't get me wrong, he was a decent guy, but all the 'Mr. Busman this' and 'Mr. Busman that' was really annoying."

"Ah, yes, Harold Busman," said Grossberg appreciatively. "He was always a true friend and an excellent bartender... it was such a shame to see him pass on..." Noticing the look on Jack's face, Grossberg trailed off and let out an awkward cough. "But that's neither here and now, is it? Continue, Barkeeper!"

"Thanks," Jack said as he inspected Donny's mug with a small smile. "Anyway, when Ms. Fey come in and asked for a drink, I made the mistake of attempting to refuse service to her."

Grossberg's eyes widened in shock. "Refuse service? Why would you do ever want to do that?"

Jack colored slightly. "Well... when I first started serving here, I tried to adhere to a strict policy of only serving Office employees and people who worked in the legal system."

Now it was Donny's turn to look confused. "I can understand why you'd want to do that... Chief Wayside used to be a real stickler for rules... but what did that have to do with Miss Mia?"

Jack's face reddened further as he thought about what to say next. "Well... let's just say the... apparel Ms. Fey was wearing that day didn't match up with my mental concept of typical lawyer dress." Jack paused to shake his head in dismay. "When she tried to explain that she was a defense attorney, I accused her of sneaking into the Office and lying to my face."

Grossberg cringed as he listened to Jack's words. "I believe it's safe to assume that Mia wasn't pleased by your accusation, Barkeeper."

Jack raised Donny's beer mug appraisingly as he gave Grossberg a nod. "You're quite right, Mr. Grossberg. As soon as I said that, she pulled her arm back as if she was about to smack me across the face."

Before Jack could continue, Grossberg let out a loud chuckle. "I've been in that situation before, Mr. Barkeeper," he said amusedly. "Believe me, it's hardly what you would consider pleasant."

Again, Jack gave Grossberg a nod. "I know. But she never did try to slap me... she just shoved her attorney's badge in my face and ranted at me for not recognizing it." Jack stared at Donny's drink as the memory continued to play in the forefront of his mind. "I really should have researched them before I took the job..."

As Jack trailed off, Donny sent him an annoyed stare. "Hey, Memory Boy, am I going to get that beer you're holding anytime soon?" he snipped.

Jack smacked a hand against his forehead as he realized he'd been waving Donny's drink around for several minutes without realizing it. "Sorry, Don," he muttered, sitting the drink in front of his friend with a sheepish grin.

"It's all right," said Donny nonchalantly. He paused, lifted the beer mug with both hands, and downed half the contents in a series of large gulps. Slamming the mug back on the table, he sent Jack an approving look and muttered, "Carry on."

Absently touching a finger to his temple, Jack stated, "Once Ms. Fey was done with her little badge recognition lesson, I felt, rather appropriately, like a piece of dung. I apologized, gave her a free drink, and told her she didn't have to talk to me after I acted like such an... ass."

Grossberg sent Jack an appraising look. "But Mia's hardly the woman to give up when presented with an option such as that."

Jack's lips curled up into a smile. "She sure wasn't. Instead of leaving me alone, she told me it was alright and asked me why I'd been feeling so upset that day."

"Mia was always good when it came to feelings," said Grossberg, gazing at the ceiling.

"Indeed she was. That was the first time I'd gotten the chance to talk to one of my customers, aside from Donny,as an equal and not a bartender; it made me feel really good. It's partly because of that that I always try to listen to my customers when _they've_ got problems and worries: I'd rather see them resolve their issues then merely drown them in booze."

Grossberg peered down his glasses and gave Jack an appraising look. "You bring up quite a point, Mr. Barkeeper," he said sincerely. However, he then looked up again and added, "Another beer, if you please."

Jack resisted the urge to frown. "As you wish, Mr. Grossberg."

Grossberg sighed heavily as Jack went to get another beer. "You know, Mr. Barkeeper... even after she left my law firm, Mia would visit me from time to time. It is as you just said... I always felt better after speaking with her for a while. She had quite the sense of humor, you see."

After a few seconds of silence, Donny broke into a sudden (and rather disturbing) series of giggles. "Hey, Jack," he began in a falsely innocent voice. "You should tell Big G that funny story!"

Jack paused from the task of filling Grossberg's second mug to send his friend a confused stare. "That funny story...?" he repeated uncertainly.

Donny nodded energetically, a large smile on his face. "Yeah! You know... the one with you, and Miss Mia, and your 'special drink'...?"

Jack's eyes widened as he realized what Donny was taking about. "My God..." he whispered... "I'd almost forgotten about that!" He too began to chuckle as he quickly filled Grossberg's mug the rest of the way. "Of course, Mia probably already told Mr. Grossberg about that little incident... isn't that right, Mr. Grossberg?"

Grossberg looked down at the table, the confusion on his face clearly evident. "I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about," he said softly. "Either Mia never told me this story, or she spoke of it once and I can not recall it." Grossberg lifted his gaze towards the ceiling for a moment before shaking his head a decisive shake. "It doesn't matter, Mr. Barkeeper. Even if I've heard the story before, there's no harm in hearing it again."

"That's the spirit!" chimed Donny, raising the thumb of his right hand in approval. "But before you begin, Jack..."

"Yes?"

"I suggest you serve your customer his drink _first._" Grinning smugly, Donny turned to Grossberg and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, telling him, "We can't have you wasting away to nothing, now can we?"

"We most certainly can not," replied Grossberg, a small cough the only indication that he understood the sarcasm.

Jack smiled. "Thankfully, that's one statement I agree with," he stated, sitting Grossberg's second beer before him with a flourish.

Grossberg immediately grasped the mug and took a large sip. "Thank you, Mr. Barkeeper," he said as he returned it to the counter with a clunk. "Now then... tell me the story of Mia and your so-called 'special drink'."

Jack bent his head forward in a mock bow. "Your wish is my command, Mr. Grossberg." He then gazed up at the ceiling, sighing slightly as the appropriate memories came to the front of his mind.

Forcing his face into a neutral expression, Jack began, "It was late in the evening, well over a year ago... the first of April, to be exact. I hadn't had any customers since early that afternoon, so I'd been keeping myself busy the only ways I know how: watching pointless television shows and playing endless games of solitaire. Because of all that inactivity, I felt pretty damn low by the time Ms. Fey walked through my door."

"Sounds like her timing was appropriate," said Grossberg absently.

"Hush up, Big G, you're going to ruin the mood!" whined Donny, his arms crossed in annoyance.

Deciding it would be best not to point out that Donny's comment was far more of a mood-killer than Grossberg's, Jack continued, "Ironically enough, Ms. Fey actually appeared to be in a worse mood than I did that night. She had big circles under her eyes, and when she first sat down it looked like she was going to collapse and take a nap right then and there."

"What happened to her?" asked Grossberg, his eyebrows knitting in concern. "Had she lost a case?"

Jack shook his head. "Nope. She'd actually tired herself out doing research for the cases she had later in the week, not to mention some other things that had been going on at the time. You can only check out crime scenes and hunt through legal books for so long before it starts to wear you down, you know?"

Grossberg merely gave a slow nod that indicated he understood.

Smiling Jack continued, "So anyway, after we talked about her cases and caught up on news for a few minutes, she asked me to recommend her something to drink because she was too tired to figure out what she wanted herself."

Jack tapped a finger to his chin, the better to look clever with. "At first, I was merely going to suggest she have some coffee, because anything with booze in it would have made her tiredness worse and not better. But then, I remembered the date, and I got an idea. A crazy idea. Yes, I had managed to come up with a rather brilliantly crazy idea..."

As he sipped his beer, a bemused expression appeared on Grossberg's face. "Exactly what was this idea of yours?" he asked curiously.

Jack let out a light chuckle. "I told Ms. Fey that I'd been working on a 'special drink' of my own creation, one that was guaranteed to help her feel better after a hard day's work. I also told her that I'd perfected the flavor in my opinion, but that I would need someone else to try it out before I attempted to market it commercially. Thus, I offered to make her a free glass and she accepted."

Grossberg nodded wearily. "So that is the 'special drink' you keep mentioning. But how did you come up with it?"

Jack chuckled again, louder this time. "I didn't."

Grossberg looked confused. "What?! Explain yourself, Mr. Barkeeper!"

Jack smiled. "In case you haven't put two and two together, Mr. Grossberg, it was April Fool's day. My entire explanation was nothing more than the setup to an elaborate practical joke."

"Me and Jack used to pull off jokes like this all the time," added Donny cheerfully. "You should be glad you've never found yourself at the... er, butt of one before."

Jack shook his head. "Now, now, Donny, I don't need you giving away all my trade secrets!" Taking a deep breath, he continued, "I gathered the ingredients for my prank cocktail over at the far side of the counter, so that Ms. Fey couldn't see what I was doing. I started with a base of plain old seltzer water, and then I added bitters, lemon juice concentrate, mustard, horseradish, Tabasco sauce, coffee grounds, and salt."

Grossberg's eyes grew wider with each powerful ingredient. "My goodness... you could have made her dreadfully ill!"

"Nah. If I'd wanted to make her physically sick – and you know I'd _never _do such a terrible thing," stated Jack with a glare, "I'd have put some peach schnapps in the drink. Miss Fey was allergic to peaches – even a bit of the juice would've been enough to make her dreadfully ill."

Grossberg made an odd noise as he stared at his half-empty beer mug. "Really, Mr. Barkeeper? I never knew that. At least that explains why she'd never try any of my wife's famous peach jam..."

"That it would," said Jack thoughtfully. "Anyway, after I'd stirred all those ingredients together in a shaker full of ice, I added some green food coloring and poured the results into a champagne flume. The concoction didn't smell very good, but at least it appeared to be vaguely consumable."

Grossberg absently tugged at his suit collar. "What happened next? Surely Mia wouldn't fall for something so blatantly-"

"Be quiet, Big G!" hissed Donny. "This is the good part!"

Ignoring his friend's comment, Jack said, "You did have a good thought there, Mr. Grossberg. Normally, Ms. Fey wouldn't fall for such a thinly veiled prank. However, you must remember that she was rather tired, and thus less alert to such things. It also helped that I managed to keep a straight face when I presented her with that glass of smelly green goop." Jack chuckled and fixed his face into a heavy grin in order to show what his reaction would have been otherwise.

Grossberg peered at Jack through the lenses of his spectacles. "Mia must have been quite unpleased with you once she consumed that foul substance," he stated sharply.

"Had my joke turned out the way I wanted it to turn it, she probably would have been rather... displeased," said Jack bluntly. "Unfortunately for me, it ended up backfiring rather... spectacularly."

"How so?" asked Grossberg, his eyes glinting.

Jack's face reddened slightly; the end of this particular story was still rather embarrassing in spite of the fact it occurred well over a year ago. "When Ms. Fey picked up the glass, I made the mistake of standing directly in front of her. Had things gone as planned, she would have merely taken a small sip, made a funny face, and then I would have yelled 'April fool!' like the conniving jerk that I am. However..."

"However...?"

"She was apparently a lot more tired than I'd figured, because she took not a sip but a great big gulp of the... stuff. Before I could even say a word in my defense, she leaned forward, her eyes got all buggy, and..."

"And...?"

"She... spit it back in my face," said Jack weakly.

His eyes unusually wide, Grossberg stared at Jack for the briefest of moments before breaking into a fit of uproarious laughter. Surprised at the strong reaction, Jack and Donny stared at each other for several seconds before joining in as well.

After several moments of such random insanity, Grossberg was the first of the men to recover. "If only I had been there to see that!" he wheezed, pounding a meaty fist against the bar counter.

The corners of his mouth still twitching, Jack let out a heavy sigh. "Her reaction had been rather hilarious," he said softly. "She didn't realize at first that I'd been playing a trick on her, and assumed that I'd be furious at the terrible insult she'd given my 'original' cocktail. It took me quite a few minutes to convince Ms. Fey that I was the one who should be apologizing and not her."

Grossberg nodded sagely. "Did she forgive you?"

"Eventually," said Jack with a smirk. "She never did let me live it down, though."

As he sipped his drink, Donny let out a light chuckle. "Nearly all of Jack's customers know about that particular incident, Big G," he said amusedly. "I'm actually surprised you didn't know it already."

Grossberg drained the remainder of his beer before letting out a weary sigh. "I don't know why she wouldn't tell me such an amusing tale, Mr. Guard. Perhaps she didn't think my old ticker could take it." He rapped a fist against his chest to emphasize his point.

"It's possible," said Jack seriously. "That seems a bit extreme, though."

Grossberg coughed. "I guess it does, Mr. Barkeeper. However, as I stated earlier, it is probably more likely that I've merely forgotten the incident. It appears that I am becoming more and more forgetful as I age... if initial trials weren't so quick these days, I might have retired some time ago."

"Thank God for small miracles," said Jack levelly. "Would you like another drink, Mr. Grossberg?"

A small smile appeared on Grossberg's face as he glanced at his empty mug. "Yes, but I believe I'll have something different this time."

"Okay," said Jack cheerfully. "What'll it be?"

Grossberg glanced at the ceiling, apparently deep in thought. After nearly a minute he asked, "Do you have any of those hard lemonades in your stock?"

Jack gave the Gavel's refrigerator an appreciative glance. "It's been a while since I last ordered any, but I believe there's one or two bottles of it left in the back. Do you want one of those, then?"

Grossberg nodded. "Yes, please. Though, when you find one, would you mind preparing it a bit... special for me?"

Jack scratched at his head. "Depends. What kind of special do you have in mind?"

Grossberg tugged at his suit collar thoughtfully. "Do you have some extra lemons in stock, for the purpose of making cocktails?"

"Yes..." said Jack, not sure where Grossberg was going with such questions.

"Excellent. In that case, I wish for you to find the lemonade and pour it into a tall glass. Then I want you to cut a lemon in two, and place half of it into the drink for me."

Jack winced in spite of himself; it sounded like the drink Grossberg was asking for would kill him through acid reflux alone. Shaking his head, he asked, "What of the other half?"

Grossberg smiled. "Serve it on the side, of course. I will eat it separately."

As Jack grabbed a glass and headed for the fridge to start his search for the drink, Donny let out a groan. "I hope you know what you're doing, Big G. If you're not careful, you might end up turning into a great big lemon yourself."

Grossberg let out a weak chuckle. "Mia used to tell me that all the time," he said thoughtfully. "It got so annoying that I had to stop myself from ordering lemon _anything _in her presence."

Jack smirked inwardly as he pulled both a hard lemonade and a single lemon from the cold depths of his fridge. "That must have been torture for you," he mused.

"It was a minor inconvenience," said Grossberg seriously. "However, a bit of self-restraint never hurt anyone."

Jack didn't answer; he was too busy trying to prepare Grossberg's drink through a haze of citrus-induced tears. Only after he sat the finished product before his customer he did allow himself to relax.

"Your lemonade, with extra lemon, as per your request," said Jack with a relieved sigh.

At the sight of the noxious yellow liquid, Grossberg clapped his hands in delight. "Excellent, my boy, simply excellent!" he exclaimed happily.

Donny gave Grossberg a strange look; he hadn't been expecting such sudden exuberance. "Are you feeling all right, Big G?" he asked tentatively.

Grossberg merely waved a dismissive hand. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he said grandiosely. Jack watched in amusement as he brought his drink to his nose and took a deep whiff. "Ah, the scent of fresh lemon... like the days of my youth, you see," he stated, his voice dripping with melancholy.

Jack let out an exaggerated sigh; he'd heard Grossberg utter that particular phrase so many times before that it bordered on the insane. "_One of these days," _he thought resignedly, "_I'm going to have to ask him why he says that so often."_

Before he could take a sip, Grossberg started to absently search the inside of his suit; Jack's eyes widened slightly as he extracted a long, fat cigar from one hidden pocket or another. "Would you mind if I...?" he asked hesitantly.

Jack stiffed slightly; he'd never considered himself a fan of tobacco smoke. "Actually, I would," he said flatly.

Grossberg raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Jack paused as he thought of what to say; he didn't want hurt his customer's feelings by stating his opinion that cigars were simply icky. "Well, Mr. Grossberg, with the ventilation in this room as bad as it is, the sten... er, _aroma _of that cigar would linger in this room for at least several days. Such a lengthy exposure wouldn't have a very good effect on the taste of my drinks, you see."

Grossberg twirled the cigar in his fingers as he considered Jack's words. "Good point, Mr. Barkeeper," he said slowly. "It would be selfish of me to ruin everyone else's drinks for the sake of my own satisfaction."

As Grossberg returned the cigar to its hiding place, Donny sent him an encouraging smile. "Its okay, Big G. You've still got your Lemon Overload," he said cheerfully.

"That is true," said Grossberg sagely. As if to prove a point, he quickly lifted the glass and downed nearly half the liquid in a single gulp.

Jack resisted the urge to laugh as he watched his friend's eyes widen in shock. "Are you feeling all right there, Don?" he asked innocently.

"My poor aching stomach," groaned Donny, rubbing the aforementioned body part with one hand.

His interest piqued, Grossberg turned towards Donny and eyed him with a critical look. "Would you like the other half of my lemon, Mr. Guard?" he asked seriously. "I always found them to be a quite natural remedy for an aching digestive tract, you know."

Donny's eyes, if anything, grew even wider. "N-no, that won't be necessary. I'll stick with beer, thank you very much." He quickly lifted his glass and downed some of the contents to prove his point.

Jack started to chuckle in spite of himself. "I'm starting to see why Ms. Fey induced you to restrain your lemon-loving ways, Mr. Grossberg," he said amusedly.

At the sound of Mia's name, Grossberg let out a heavy sigh; the distracting talk about lemons had served to take his mind off her death for merely a few minutes.

"Are you feeling alright?" Jack asked the question in a tone much softer than the one he'd used on Donny moments ago.

Grossberg merely shook his head in the negative before taking another large sip of his lemonade. Grimacing only briefly at the taste, he swallowed and gazed at the ceiling, lost in thought.

"Mr. Grossberg?"

"Over three years," whispered Grossberg, his tone steeped in awe. "Where has the time gone?"

"Where has what time gone?" asked Donny, scratching his head in clear confusion.

Not noticing Donny's question in the slightest, Grossberg continued, "I might not be able to clearly remember all of my past cases, but I can remember how determined Mia had been to defend the kid in the puffy pink shirt." He let out a wry chuckle. "I might not be an expert when it comes to youthful attire, but I wouldn't have been caught dead in that particular ensemble; that's for certain."

At the sound of the phrase 'pink shirt', the wheels in the Jack's mind started to turn. "Wait a second, Mr. Grossberg," he muttered, rubbing at his temple. "You're talking about the case Mr. Payne's always complaining to me about. The defendant was Mr. Phoenix Wright, and the true killer was some two-faced girl that kept poisoning people... right?"

Grossberg blinked several times before nodding wearily. "That is correct. One of the most significant cases I've ever had the honor of being a part of these past few years." Grossberg paused to sip his drink before adding, "Actually, I'm rather surprised Mr. Payne is willing to speak to you of that trial... I always considered it to be quite a stressful event in his life."

Jack shrugged. "I'm a bartender. People will talk to me about anything if they're in the proper mood."

"Of course, of course," said Grossberg dismissively. "Still, that was quite the courtroom battle. I will admit I was unsure of the outcome at first... but, by the time Mia had finished her flawless argument, I was almost as pleased as she was, watching that manipulative, psychotic... _woman _get what she deserved."

"Had I known about the case at the time, I assure you I would have felt the same way," said Jack seriously. "How many people did she kill?"

Grossberg absently gazed upward. "At least three... maybe four. The details area bit fuzzy, you see."

"That's okay," said Jack levelly. "Of course, the most important thing is that Mr. Wright didn't receive the penalty for something he didn't do."

As Grossberg quietly nodded and stared at his glass, Jack decided to press him on one of the things he still found odd about Mia's murder case. "You know, it's rather strange..." he began softly.

"What's rather strange?!" blurted Donny, his face once again the epitome of confusion.

Ignoring his friend's outburst, Jack continued, "That pink-shirted man, Phoenix Wright... He's also the guy defending Maya Fey in the trial tomorrow, right?"

Grossberg gazed down at his glass and blinked several times in rapid succession. "You know, I believe he is..." he said softly. He shook his head and gave a small cough. "I'm actually rather surprised you were able to make such a connection."

"You can thank Mr. Payne for teaching me that little factoid as well," Jack said, absently tapping a hand against his forehead. "He gave me quite an earful on the subject of 'pink-shirt' when he lost to Mr. Wright in court a month ago. When I heard that a 'Mr. Wright' was taking Ms. Fey's case earlier today, I knew he had to be the same man."

"I see." Grossberg gave Jack another nod before drinking deeply from his glass.

Before Jack could press Grossberg further, Donny, his brow clearly furrowed in thought, suddenly blurted, "Wait a minute! I remember that case too!"

Jack and Grossberg looked at Donny, astonished; obviously, neither had expected _him_ to remember anything about such an old trial.

Oblivious to the others' stares, Donny quickly stated, "It happened a few months after I started working here; about the same time Mr. Busman died. The murder at Ivy University was a _really_ big news story, especially when they found out the killer was that cute little red-headed girl with those gorgeous eyes..." As Donny trailed off, a bead of sweat slowly rolled down his forehead.

Jack shuddered; he could hardly consider a woman who'd killed at least three people to be 'cute'. "Tell me Donny... What does that have to do with anything?" he snapped.

Donny jumped at the sudden question. Lower lip quivering, he replied, "It... it just doesn't make any sense!"

_Damn it, Donny, that doesn't help! _"_What _doesn't make any sense, Don?" asked Jack, even more annoyed this time.

Donny took a quick sip of beer and started scratching his head. His voice somewhat calm, he explained, "Well... it's just that... Miss Mia was the girl that saved that Wright guy from the gallows back then. That's a pretty damn big deal, if you ask me." Donny paused before puffing out his chest and continuing, "So it doesn't make any sense that he'd pay her back by defending the no-good sister that killed her! I know he's a defense attorney, but, _come on! _Pick something a little farther from home, why don't you?"

Jack stared at Donny blankly for a moment before allowing himself to smirk; his friend had pointed out the oddity in the case before he'd even gotten the chance. "Well, maybe Mr. Wright is crazy enough to believe that Ms. Fey's little sister couldn't do such a thing," he said, smiling.

Donny stared at Jack with narrowed eyes as he took another sip of beer. "I'm on to you, Keeper," he hissed in mock anger. "Twisting my train of thought around, trying to force a change in my opinion... typical Defense Attorney-style trickery!"

Donny jumped in his seat as Grossberg let out a rather audible cough. "Sorry, Big G; not thinking clearly..." he stammered, his face reddening.

Jack raised his hands. "All right, you've got me, Don," he chuckled. "However, I believe we both agree that Mr. Wright's a bit off when it comes to picking clients."

Donny nodded. "Yeah." Smirking, he turned his body back towards Grossberg. "What do you think about Mr. Wright, Big G?"

In spite of his size, Grossberg jumped as if he'd nearly been struck by a speeding bullet. "You want m-my opinion on this matter, Mr. Guard?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Of course I do!" said Donny brightly. "You're the big shot defense lawyer, after all. If anyone can tell us why Mr. Wright would want to defend this girl, it's you."

"I see," said Grossberg weakly. Deftly, he lifted the half-lemon not in his drink from its spot on the bar and squeezed some of the juice into his mouth. "I-I can not be completely certain," he began in an oddly wavering voice, "But perhaps this Mr. Wright took the case in an effort to increase his prestige."

"Prestige?" asked Jack incredulously.

"Yes." Grossberg paused and adjusted his spectacles with a shaking hand. "After all, he hasn't taken any big cases before, has he?"

Donny furiously shook his head. "Nah. The case where he beat Mr. P was the only one that made the papers, and even that was rather small potatoes."

Jack frowned. "So what you're telling us, Mr. Grossberg, is that he's only taking this case to make a name for himself?"

Grossberg blinked. "Well..."

Before Grossberg could collect his thoughts, Donny cut him off with a blurted, "That makes sense." He took a sip of his drink before adding, "Miss Mia was a famous lawyer, so her murder trial's a really big deal. If he somehow manages to win the case, he's going to get a _lot _of good publicity."

"And if he loses?" asked Jack resignedly.

"Well, the papers will be really nasty to him but... at least he'll get his name out there."

Grossberg flinched visibly. "T-that is a possibility," he stammered weakly. "But, let us not be too hasty in jumping to conclusions."

"_That's odd,"_ Jack thought blankly. "_Why is Grossberg suddenly trying to discount his own theory?"_

"T-there is also a chance that Mr. Wright is defending Maya for Mia's sake," said Grossberg thoughtfully.

Donny nearly fell off his stool in shock. Fixing Grossberg with an icy stare, he bellowed, "Is all that lemon going to your head? That _really_ doesn't make any sense!"

Grossberg shook his head. "I wouldn't be too sure of that, Mr. Guard. If there's one thing I've learned in the years I've known Mia, it is that she loves her little sister. With Maya in trouble and her unable to do anything about it, I'm sure that Mia would be happy to know that someone was helping her... no matter what the circumstances."

Donny tugged at his shirt collar. "B-but... everyone's saying Maya's the killer! You'd have to be crazy to take on a guilty person for that reason alone!"

"Not necessarily," said Jack pointedly. "This may be the 21st century, but human decency hasn't died off _yet. _Ms. Fey was a good person, and it's not impossible that Mr. Wright's the same way. Besides, just because a person's unpopular doesn't mean no one should stand up for them _at all_." Jack fixed Donny with a sharp, knowing glare. "Right?"

Donny cowed back as if he'd been slapped. "Y-yeah, that's right, that's right," he stammered. "But if that's the case, then..." Donny's eyes grew big with realization. "Damn... Mr. Wright's got balls to spare!"

Grossberg and Jack both gave Donny fishy-eyed stares as his lewd comment echoed into awkward silence.

Nearly half a minute passed before Jack broke the quiet with a disbelieving _"What?!"_

His face pink with embarrassment, Donny sputtered, "Well, I'm just saying it takes a lot of guts for someone to put their reputation on the line if they aren't expecting anything in return. I-I mean, if, God forbid, someone besides Maya offed Ms. Mia, then Mr. Wright's got himself a really tough deal!"

Grossberg's hand was shaking as he again brought the lemonade to his lips. "A t-tough deal?"

Jack gave his customer a sad smile. "You're the most successful defense attorney in the district, Mr. Grossberg. If anyone knows how difficult it is to muster a not guilty verdict in this day and age, it's you."

Grossberg nodded uneasily. "Proving innocence is indeed a difficult task... one that takes a great amount of legal skill to accomplish."

"Exactly!" exclaimed Jack, vigorously nodding. "It'll take a lot of skill to prove Maya innocent, but as long as someone else is the guilty party, it's shouldn't be impossible. And if he can prove that he's tough enough to get one of his clients not guilty, he'll probably start getting a lot more real quick." Jack paused to tap a finger against his temple. "Who knows... a couple years from now he might be as good as you!"

Grossberg paled. "As good as me, you say...?" he whispered.

Jack chuckled. "Sorry if I sound like a bit of a suck-up, Mr. Grossberg, but you have always struck me as the model example of a good defense lawyer. After all, you've got a decent win record, a successful practice, strong values..."

"...and the ability to keep them up in spite of a dangerously unhealthy lemon addiction!" chimed Donny, a goofy grin on his face.

Before Jack could say anything, Grossberg started to violently tremble; his round face fell into shadow as he turned his head away from Donny and stared directly at the barroom floor.

Donny's eyes widened in shock as he witnessed the strange reaction. Placing a steady hand on Grossberg's unsteady shoulder, he quickly stammered, "I'm sorry, Big G, I didn't realize the lemon thing was such a big deal for you..."

Though he didn't turn his head, Grossberg's case of the shakes immediately stopped.

"Big G?"

"No..." hissed Grossberg, his voice abnormally harsh.

Donny's eyebrows rose. "No? No what? No lemon addiction?"

"No, not that." spat Grossberg, even more bitterly.

Jack's gazed at Grossberg with an expression of concern. "If not lemons, then what?" he asked quietly.

"What you just said."

Jack's eyes widened as he absently placed his left hand against his chest in surprise. "No to what I just said? What do you mean by that?"

At this, Grossberg finally lifted his head and looked Jack directly in the eye; his normally genial face was contorted in an uncharacteristic expression of pained anger. "To think... that I am stronger than Mr. Wright..." Grossberg paused to take a deep, hissing breath. "It's simply not true."

"**Whaaaaaaaaat?**" yelled Donny, louder and more exuberantly than ever before. "Are you **nuts**, Big G? You've been a lawyer for _forty years _now! How can you say some newbie's stronger than you are?"

Grossberg now fixed Donny with his bizarre gaze. "I assure you I would not kid about an issue such as this, _Guard._" he spat. "If this were untrue, I wouldn't have done what I did!" He slammed a meaty fist against the bar counter to emphasize his point.

Donny smirked. "Ah, come on, now, Big G! Whatever you did, it can't be that bad!"

Grossberg's eyebrows knitted together; he appeared, if anything, even angrier. "Can't be that bad? What I did was unforgivable!"

'_Unforgivable? That's a rather harsh word to use...' _Voice shaking with trepidation, Jack asked, "Exactly what did you do, Mr. Grossberg?"

Grossberg took in another hissing breath; he was obviously steeling to admit something huge. "What I did?" he shouted ominously. "I... I... _**I refused!"**_

Donny slapped a hand against his forehead in exasperation. "Big Geeee..." he whined. "How are we supposed to understand what you did if you refuse to tell us?"

Grossberg shook his head. "No... Not refuse, Mr. Guard. _Refused._"

"Oh..." moaned Jack comprehendingly. "You're saying that your unforgivable action is refusing something."

Grossberg sighed. "That is correct."

_So... Grossberg refused something... and that somehow makes Mr. Wright stronger than him? That must mean that Mr. Wright __**didn't**__ refuse it... which means... _Jack's stomach gave an awful lurch as the only probable conclusion sprang to the forefront of his mind.

"So, what did you refuse, Big G?" asked Donny, his light tone of voice betraying his obliviousness.

Grossberg shuddered and his lower lip began to tremble; it was apparent that he couldn't bring himself to say anything more.

Jack decided to cut him a break. "You refused to be a part of tomorrow's trial, didn't you? Maya Fey asked you to defend her... and you said no."

A brief flicker of surprise flashed across Grossberg's face before he slowly nodded. "You're correct, Mr. Barkeeper," he sighed.

Jack looked downward and shook his head; he'd been hoping that his guess was wrong.

Donny, on the other hand, looked confused. "Okay, Maya called you down to the Detention Center and you refused to believe her story. How does that make you weak?"

Grossberg stared at Donny for several seconds before shaking his head in the negative. "First of all, it didn't happen like that, Mr. Guard. Even if I had been able to meet with her face to face... I wouldn't have been able to stand it."

Jack lifted his head and frowned. "You're being kind of vague, Mr. Grossberg. If you didn't meet her face to face, how did you...?"

Grossberg let out another sigh. "It was Mr. Wright that asked me to defend Mia's sister. She'd asked him to request my services on her behalf, you see."

"I see!" said Donny brightly. "But..."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "But...?"

Donny scratched at his head. "I still don't see why that's a big deal. Lawyers refuse to take cases all the time! I don't see why you're tying yourself up in knots over this, Big G!"

Grossberg merely sighed again, this time as loudly and as grandiosely as he could. "Before she left my firm... Mia..." he trailed off.

Donny placed a hand on Grossberg's shoulder and flashed an encouraging smile. "Go on..."

Grossberg's face twisted painfully. "Mia... asked me to make her a promise."

"A promise?" asked Jack, his voice purposefully neutral.

"Yes. She asked me if I could... look out for... her sister in the unfortunate case of her demise. At the time, I saw no reason to refuse, and thus, I promised."

Before Jack could say anything, Donny jumped and let out a pained hiss. "Oooo... That's not good, Big G," he muttered slowly. "If I'd promised Miss Mia something, I would've made sure to stick to my word, no matter what it was."

Grossberg gave Donny a pleading look. "Even if it were impossible?"

Donny shrugged. "Well..." Unable to come up with a decent response, he stalled by sipping his drink. "Er... I guess that would be kind of bad... but... I guess there's no point in not giving it the old college try, eh Jack?"

Jack frowned and crossed his arms. "I would've at least made an attempt, or tried to explain to Ms. Fey exactly why I couldn't do as she asked." He shook his head and looked to the ceiling. "Of course, that second option isn't exactly available right now..."

Donny let out a sigh. "So is that why you're calling yourself weak, Big G? You turned your back on a guilty girl and let the new guy take the fall?"

Grossberg nodded, and then gulped. "The... fall?"

"Well, yeah. That guilty verdict's going to give Mr. Wright a lot of trouble, being a rookie and all." Donny paused to adjust his shirt collar. "But it's not like it's the end of the world for him, right?"

Grossberg didn't say a word; he merely turned away from Donny and sipped at what was left of his drink.

Donny's eyebrows rose in confusion. "Right?"

Grossberg continued to remain silent.

A bead of sweat rolled down Donny's forehead. "You're scaring me, Big G..." he whined softly.

"_In fact, you're scaring me too,"_ thought Jack nervously. He stepped forward and gave his customer a wary glare.

Grossberg glanced upward and despairingly shook his head. "I tried to warn him that the case couldn't be won. But, lo and behold, he charged forward and took it anyway. A very strong move, but foolhardy."

Jack shook his head. "Foolhardy...?"

Grossberg nodded and drained the last of his drink. "_Very _foolhardy. Of course, I can hardly blame the man... he probably doesn't realize the magnitude of what he's gotten himself into."

Donny shuddered; despite having nearly finished his beer, he appeared to be more sober now than he'd been when he'd entered the bar. "Exactly what _did _he get himself into?"

Jack leaned forward eagerly; he desperately wanted to know the answer to that question as well.

Grossberg must have noticed this, as he abruptly straightened himself up gave both Jack and Donny an unexpectedly cold stare. Shaking his head, he droned, "I'm sorry, but I can not say anything more."

Jack jumped back with a start. "**What?** But... but... This sounds important, Mr. Grossberg!"

Grossberg's expression softened, but still he shook his head. "I'm well aware of that, Mr. Barkeeper. However, I can not and will not drag any more innocent people into..." He suddenly trailed off and coughed lightly. "Sorry, but I refuse to speak further on such matters."

Before Jack could figure out how to reply to _that, _Donny sent Grossberg a glare more thoughtful than any he could remember seeing in recent times. "You know, Big G," he said softly, "You've been doing a lot of refusing today."

The bar fell into a heavy silence. Jack's face settled into a deep frown; he knew Grossberg was holding back something big... no, something _huge_;something directly related to Mia's murder. As his eyes fell once more upon Grossberg's stubborn face, he resignedly shook his head: there would be no easy way to get the truth out of this man. Sighing deeply, he was about to ask Grossberg whether he wanted another drink or was ready to leave when...

The sound of ridiculously loud music filled the air; Jack and Donny both jumped as the electronic tones of a slow jazz piece grated at their ears.

"What the _hell _is that racket?" yelled Donny, his hands clasped against his ears.

"Sounds like it's coming from you, Mr. Grossberg," said Jack, wincing.

Grossberg blinked a couple of times before nodding his head sheepishly. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Barkeeper, that is the song of my cellular phone. I make it that loud so that my old ears can hear it regardless of its location on my person." With that, he forced himself to his feet, pulled a burgundy-colored cell phone out of his pants pocket, opened it and held it to his face. "Grossberg and co. Law Offices, Marvin Grossberg speaking."

A loud masculine voice burst from the receiver in Grossberg's hand. Though Jack couldn't distinguish any of the caller's words from where he was standing, he could tell that he sounded abnormally eager.

In a matter of seconds, Grossberg's look of mild geniality twisted back into the loathing expression just as intense as the one he'd been wearing just a few minutes earlier. "Oh... it's _**you**__," _he angrily spat into the receiver. "Figures that _you _would call me at such an hour.

Donny stared at Grossberg, his wide-eyed expression bordering upon alarm. "Big G..." he whispered, "Who is this guy?"

In lieu of answering, Grossberg merely thrust one meaty palm before Donny's face. "One moment, _sir. _Allow me to move somewhere more comfortable," he hissed into the receiver.

Jack merely looked at Grossberg in bewilderment as he turned on his heel and walked most of the way across the room, settling down once more on a wooden chair near the barroom window. Try as he could, he could no longer hear a word of what either Grossberg or his mysterious caller was saying.

Donny turned to Jack and looked at him with a rather neutral expression. "Well... that was rude," he said lightly.

"Perhaps," replied Jack softly. "Then again, it's only natural to want to hold certain conversations in private."

Donny nodded, but he didn't seem convinced. "Yeah, but that was _scary_, Jack. I mean, Big G's usually a nice guy. What sort of client does he have to make him so... upset?"

"Hmmm," muttered Jack thoughtfully. "When you put it that way, it does seem rather odd." Inside, Jack was being to wonder. "_One odd phone call is weird enough," _he thought seriously. "_But this makes __**two **__odd phone calls in the same day. Could it be... a pattern?"_

"Are you all right, Jack?" asked Donny warily. "You're starting to get all bug-eyed on me here..."

Jack blinked and shook his head. "Sorry, I'm just thinking about something strange I heard this afternoon..."

"You mean when you were grilling Mr. E and 'Tective G about the Mia case?" Donny leaned forward, an eager expression on his face. "Tell me, Jack, tell me!"

Jack ran a hand through his hair and sighed; at this rate he wouldn't be maintaining any of the confidentiality he'd promised Edgeworth and Gumshoe earlier in the day. "Well, if you must know..."

Jack trailed off as he watched Grossberg slam a fist against his table in a burst of range. **"NO!" **he shouted. **"I simply cannot give you what I do not have! You, **_**sir, **_**are daft!"**

Jack stared at the old attorney, his mouth agape. When he regained the power of speech, he turned to Donny and asked, "What the hell was that all about?"

"I don't know. Maybe they're arguing over some sort of representation fee?" returned Donny perplexedly.

Jack thought about it a moment and shook his head. "No... If that were true, Mr. Grossberg would be arguing over _getting _something, not _giving _it away," said Jack quietly. "Strange..."

Before Donny could reply, Grossberg again slammed his fist against the table. "**The painting? You can't! It's my pride and joy!" **he yelled

"Painting? What does he mean by that?" whispered Donny furiously.

"Not quite sure," muttered Jack, shaking his head.

**"The hue of the sky! The color of the sea! The weave of the straw hat! I refuse to part with it!" **bellowed Grossberg, angrier than ever.

Donny started scratching his head in confusion. "They're arguing over... artwork? Odd thing for a client to want..."

Jack frowned. "Something tells me this isn't an ordinary client."

Donny glanced at Grossberg again before giving Jack a slow nod. "Yeah..."

**"Bang!" **The intensity with which Grossberg hit the table this time was nearly enough to make the entire bar shake. **"All right, all right, I understand; you win! I'll be there as soon as I can!" **Grossberg paused for a moment to listen to the voice on the other end. **"I look forward to seeing you too," **he spat sarcastically. **"Farewell!" **With that, he tore the phone away from his ear and closed it with a resounding **"SNAP!"**

Jack and Donny both stared at Grossberg as he returned to the bar, his gait slower and somehow more... defeated than it had before the phone call.

Donny sighed wearily. "Big G, exactly what were you-"

Grossberg merely held up a finger to stop him. "Not one word, Mr. Guard," he said resignedly.

"But-"

"_Not one word,_" repeated Grossberg, his face momentarily stern. "Now then, Mr. Bartender, I must be leaving, so here is your fee..." He reached into his suit pocket and extracted a single $50 bill. However, instead of placing it on the counter, he merely held it in front of his face and gave it a wistful stare.

"_Now what's wrong?" _Jack thought warily. "Mr. Grossberg..."

"Money," muttered Grossberg, his tone weak and weary. "The key to so many successes... and yet also the key to so many downfalls..." As if he'd just realized how odd he sounded, he shook his head and placed the bill on the table. "You may keep it all."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure, Mr. Grossberg? Your drinks cost less then half that."

Grossberg nodded. "Yes, I am sure, Mr. Bartender..." he paused and gazed at the money on the counter. "I am certain that you will put it to a respectable use." He shook his head once again. "So long, Mr. Bartender... Mr. Guard."

"So long, Big G!" Donny chimed cheerfully.

"Hope you feel better soon," added Jack seriously.

Grossberg merely shook his head. "Hope...? Hope is only for the young and foolhardy, Mr. Barkeeper." He let the statement hang in the air as he lumbered across the room and left through the barroom door.

"Well... that was sudden," said Donny dully, still staring at the spot where Grossberg had stood a minute before.

"Indeed," muttered Jack. He quietly removed the banknote from the counter and placed it in the old cash register. "_Seems today is my lucky day when it comes to tipping," _he thought wryly.

"Jack?" Donny's voice sounded uncertain.

Jack turned around, a neutral expression set on his face. "What is it, Don?"

"What was it you heard earlier today? You know... the strange thing?"

Jack allowed himself a wry smile; obviously, Donny wasn't going to stop pressing him for information anytime soon. Jack paused a moment before blurting, "You remember who Peter Parsons is, right?"

Donny's nodded his head rapidly. "Of course I do! He runs all the Prosecutor Offices in the region! Hard to say his full name and title, though..."

Jack nodded. "Good. You ever see him in person?"

"Not very often," replied Donny, scratching his temple in thought. "He usually drops by once or twice a year to meet with L-l-l... the Chief and some of the other bigwig prosecutors. Most of the time, lawyers meet with him in _his _office building, not ours."

"Sounds reasonable," muttered Jack tersely. "Now, when you've seen him... how does he normally act?"

"Normally act...?" Donny scratched his head in confusion.

"You know, what's his personality like?"

"_Oh..._" Donny moaned understandingly. "Parsons is one tough cookie, Jack. I think he used to be in the military... the first time I met him, he yelled at me for ten minutes because I didn't greet him with a salute!"

Jack nodded again, this time more warily. "I was afraid you'd say something like that."

"Why would _you _be afraid, Jack? It's not like you ever have to deal with that nut..."

Jack sighed; now he had no choice but to spill the beans. "Well, you see, Donny, Mr. Edgeworth got a call from Mr. Parsons earlier today, and he didn't act like that at all. If anything, he was nervous!"

Donny's eyes widened in shock. "Wow! I don't think I've ever heard him sound like that! What was he talking about?"

"He was talking to Edgeworth about the case... he wanted to meet with him in person to discuss it, and he set up a meeting for... uh–" Jack turned around and glanced at the small annular clock mounted on the bar's back wall; it read 11:13 PM. "Right around now. Kind of an odd time, don't you think?"

­

Donny nodded furiously, and then let out a lengthy whistle. "Wow. Mr. Parsons acting nervous; meeting with Mr. E in the dead of night; all the newspapers being hard on Miss Maya without knowing all the story; Big G acting all stubborn and screaming over the phone about paintings... maybe there _is _something funny going on with Ms. Mia's murder case..." he stated in awe.

Smiling, Jack said, "I'm glad you're starting to see what I see, Don." Mentally, he added, _I knew you'd be able to put it together sooner or later._

"Yeah..." muttered Donny, unaware of Jack's thoughts. "Of course, that doesn't mean I think Miss Maya's 100 percent innocent, either."

Jack nodded. "I guess I can live with the fact that I can't 100 percent change your mind." He allowed a cocky grin to slide onto his face before adding, "No matter how hard I try."

Donny smiled, snapped his fingers, and pointed at Jack's face. "Damn straight, buddy."

Jack nodded and glanced at the clock again before letting out an exaggerated yawn. "It's getting late, Don. I'm going to have to start cleaning up now if I want to be out of here before midnight."

"I understand," said Donny evenly. "I should really be going too, but first I've got to do one little thing..."

"Really? And what would that be?"

In lieu of an answer, Donny merely stood up, reached into his pants pocket, and extracted a familiar looking white sphere. "I've still got ball-in-hand... or ball-in-pants, as it were," he said, waggling his eyebrows.

"I'm not going anywhere near that joke, Don," muttered Jack, rolling his eyes. "You go finish the game while I start washing up."

Donny put his hands together, smiled, and chimed, "Okay, Jack!" before elaborately jogging over to the pool table.

As he sat Grossberg's used beer mugs in the sink, Jack shook his head and sighed.

"I hope that Mr. Wright knows what he's doing tomorrow," he said to himself. "If anyone can figure out what the hell's going on with this case..."

**"Nine-ball in the corner pocket for the win!" **called Donny furiously. Jack didn't even get to turn around before...

**CLACK! **

**Plunk!**

**"YEAH! Did you see that, Jack! **_**IN YOUR FACE!" **_screamed Donny, manically jumping up and down.

Jack smiled and nodded before again muttering, "If anyone can figure out what the hell's going on with this case... it's going to be him, not us."

* * *

**A/N: **We can't all be omnipotent, after all. 

Anyway, this ends the eighth chapter of my insanely long saga, which I will admit is much fluffier than most of the chapters before it. I guess that's what happens when I overbalance one moderately important canon character with the two most prominent OCs. At times, I get annoyed with myself for complicating the PW universe with so many extra characters (I believe I will have around a dozen OCs of at least marginal importance by the time the first game ends), but I guess it's just one of the consequences of writing a fanfic that dwells near the figurative edge of the series canon. (I should think about removing the AA characters, creating an original plot, and turning the bartender-for-lawyers idea into an original novel someday...)

But enough of my dreams. While this chapter is mostly self-explanatory, I believe there is one issue that requires just a bit of explination:

**What were Jack and Donny playing at the beginning (and end) of the chapter: **Though I mentioned it once in the chapter text, I will repeat that Jack and Donny spent roughly the first fourth of the scene playing a billiard (pool) game by the name of 9-ball. For the most part, I adhered to the officious-sounding rules of 9-ball as explained by Wikipedia at the time I first wrote this; the exception being the fact that, in an official game of 9-ball, you don't have to call a pocket before every shot. I only have Jack and Donny do it so that the text is less confusing.

Well, that's all for this particular A/N. I ask all you reader dudes to keep an eye out for Episode II, Part 4, which details the sudden switch in Case 2 defendants, and introduces (yet another...) OC which I believe is fundamental to the telling of this backstory: Upton Washer, a man that is basically the defense's answer to Winston Payne.

Tally-ho, readers! (flees)


	9. Ep II Part 4: Bait and Switch

**Note: **Phoenix Wright / Gyakuten Saiban, its settings, plot points, and characters, are all the property of Capcom, and are being used here without permission. This chapter takes place during/after the second investigation phase of GS1 Case 2; Spoilers for that case and references to GS1-1, 3-1, and maybe a couple of others (I can never be certain, after all).**  
**

**Episode II: A Toast to the Sisters**

_Part 4: Bait and Switch_

**September 7****th****, 2016, 4:45 PM**

"With a little luck, Central West Train Station's grand reopening will bring an end to the traffic problems that have been snarling District City's railway system these past few months." declared the tweedy-looking male reporter on the Gavel's television screen.

"Fat chance," sputtered Jack, his loud voice echoing off the various walls of his bar. As he was again without customers, he saw no reason to be discrete while criticizing the newsman's false optimism.

Obviously unaware that he was being lambasted from afar, the reporter added, "After the break, I will be speaking to photographer Gary Fisher about the new black-and-white craze sweeping professional photography circles."

Jack frowned. "Black and white photography? Didn't they stop doing that around fifty years ago?" He shook his head. "Damn filler stories."

Before the television could cut away to commercials, the reporter blurted, "Oh, and if professional photography isn't your thing, don't forget to stay tuned for the _Legal Lowdown with Bill Grantor _at the top of the hour. Ol' Bill's going to give you all the things you need to know about today's biggest court cases, guaranteed!" The reported flashed one more phony-looking smile before the screen faded to black.

Jack let out a groan of frustration. "That's the only thing you've been saying all day!" he whined. Indeed, he'd kept his television tuned to the city's sole News station since he'd opened up the place over three hours earlier, and he hadn't learned one thing about what was happening with Mia's murder trial.

_Well, at least I'm fairly sure they haven't gotten a verdict yet,_he thought coolly. After three years of following the city's legal events, he knew that the verdict in a major trial was typically made public just minutes after the final gavel slammed down, often in the form of a breaking news story. The fact that such an event had not yet occurred was as much reassuring as it was unusual.

Before Jack could think about the issue any further, a chime rang through the bar, and Jack turned to see District Defense Attorney Upton Washer making his way across the barroom floor.

Washer was hardly what Jack would call a typical-looking man; his height and frame were about the only things average about his appearance. His face was thin, pale, and oily; his eyes seemed to be opened unnaturally wide. His greasy-looking hair was short, plastered to his skull, and (most abnormally of all) dyed a luminous shade of orange. His clothes were just as off-key as his hair: his suit was lime green, his tie was bright purple, and his shoes were light blue (and undoubtedly made of suede). To Jack, Washer looked like nothing more than a batch of badly mixed margaritas.

Once Washer had made it to the bar counter, he heaved himself onto a stool and shot Jack a blasé smile.

Jack sighed inwardly; Washer had a habit of never starting his own conversations. "Good afternoon, Mr. Washer," he said levelly. "How're you feeling today?"

Washer's wide eyes widened even further, as if he was shocked that someone was talking to him. "Me?" he stammered, pointing a slender finger at his own chest. "I'm not feeling good at all, Jack. In fact, I feel sad, depressed, down in the dumps! That's why I decided to come down here, you know!"

"I guess that makes sense," said Jack dully. "Do you want something to drink, then?"

"I see no reason why I shouldn't!" exclaimed Washer, his thin, warbling voice infused with artificial brightness. He lifted a hand, held it above his eyes as if scouting for something, and swung his head back and forth for several seconds before declaring, "Ah!"

"Spot something good?" asked Jack, his tone blasé.

"That is correct; affirmative; a truth! I wish for you to prepare me a Whiskey Sour!"

"You've got it, Mr. Washer." As Jack turned and walked the few short steps to his shelf filled with cocktail ingredients, he absently wondered how Washer could have "spotted" a full cocktail just by looking at the base parts. _No matter,_ he thought. _Hopefully that damn Legal show will be on the TV once Washer's got his troubles off his chest._

Knowing better than to let the silence linger, Jack asked, "So... what's got you feeling down, Mr. Washer?" As he waited for an answer, he quickly searched the shelves and plucked off the ingredients he'd need.

"Well, Jack, you know how it is..." trilled Washer languidly.

Jack sighed; Washer never had been the type of man to get to the point fairly quickly. "Sorry, Mr. Washer, I don't know how it is. Could you enlighten me?"

"I'm sorry..." muttered Washer, confused. "Did you just ask me to frighten you?"

Jack's face twitched in an effort not to sigh again. "No, I said '_enlighten_ me'." he repeated loudly. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Oh! I comprehend, I understand, I get it!" Washer paused for just a moment before saying, "To be honest, it's quite simple. I'm stuck in a rut!"

"A rut, you say...?" As Jack asked Washer the simple question, the instructions to making a Whiskey Sour echoed dully in the back of his head. _First, fill the cocktail with shaker with ice..._

"Exactly!" shouted Washer, snapping his fingers in delight. "I'm stuck in a rut, a hole, a depression! Seems like nothing I've been doing lately has been turning out right!"

"That does sound pretty rough," Jack commented. _Start with one part bar syrup..._

"I know!" spat Washer loudly. "It's like this, Jack: In the past two weeks, do you know how many cases the District Defense Department's assigned me?"

"I know you fought a case against Mr. Payne two days ago, so you had to have at least one..." _Add two parts lemon juice..._

"That's correct! I only had one case, a single case, a solitary case! Can you understand how... insulting that is?!"

Jack paused. "I once had a day where I sat here ten hours and only ended up entertaining one customer," he said thoughtfully. "Would it be something like that?"

"Like _that? _How should I know _that_? I'm not a bartender!" spat Washer indignantly.

"And I'm not a lawyer," countered Jack fluidly. _Add three parts bourbon, seal, and shake._

When Jack lifted the cocktail shaker and directed his eyes to Washer again, he found that the man looked oddly contrite. "You have a good point there..." he said meekly. "But still!"

"But still...?"

"Not only have I had just one new case, but I lost it as well! And to _Winston Payne, _of all people! It's an outrage, a scandal, a disgrace!"

"I guess..." said Jack half-heartedly. "But Mr. Payne isn't _that _terrible a prosecutor. He used to be a big deal a few years back. And besides, you're defendant _was_ guilty, wasn't he?" Jack didn't even bother to wait for a reply; he started shaking Washer's drink in order to force the man to mull things over.

After Jack sat the shaker on the bar counter and turned to get a glass, Washer let out a disgruntled sigh and hissed, "Yes, I guess he was. I _still _wish they'd assigned me more cases, though."

As he poured Washer's drink and added the garnishes, Jack gave a strong nod. "Well, you never know what's going to happen next, Mr. Washer," he said sensibly. "You might get a big case before the day's done, for all we know."

Washer ran a hand through his florescent hair before letting out a troubled laugh. "I'd like to agree with you, Jack, but on a day like this everything just sort of seems discouraging, unpromising, hopeless. I don't think anything's going to cheer me up."

Jack shook his head before flashing Washer a reserved smile. "Well, for what it's worth, your drink's done. One Whiskey Sour, shaken to perfection and topped with the traditional orange slice and cherry." He sat the drink before Washer before pulling out his chair and placing it so he could listen to both Washer and the television, which was finally close to finishing its segment on cheap outdated film.

"So, I's _implores _all of yous peoples out theres to comes to the Great Grayscale Gallery in District City's Museum of Arts comes this November!" declared a shaky looking young man with spiked platinum hair and an old-fashioned camera around his neck. "It's goings to be awesomes!"

The camera shifted to the tweedy-looking reporter, who blinked several times in rapid succession before adopting a smarmy smile and announcing, "And that's the straight scoop from one of the most... interesting photographers ever to come on this show!"

_You don't say... Though, to be fair, I think this is the __**only**__ time I've ever seen a photographer on this program,_ Jack thought wryly.

"And that's all the time we have for today, folks! I'm Andrew Reid; don't forget to tune here tomorrow; The _Legal Lowdown with Bill Grantor _starts right... now!"

Less than a second later, the television erupted into a cacophony of sound that was the _Legal Lowdown's _theme song. Jack shuddered slightly at the instrumental music's rapid beat and powerful sound; somehow, the strength of the melody made him feel like nothing more than a dirty rat trapped in a backroom corner. Thankfully, it was but a minute before the theme (and its accompanying random images of courtroom action) faded away and the weary, bearded visage of Mr. Bill Grantor took its place.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he greeted in his signature low rasp of a voice. "Welcome to the _Legal Lowdown_, wherein I bring you news and analysis in on some of the most pressing and noteworthy court cases occurring in District City today."

"I don't know why they let this man do the daily legal show," Washer trilled indignantly. "The man's tedious, tiresome, boring!" He adjusted his lurid tie for good measure.

"Of course," continued Grantor, "On this day, there was but one legal drama that's been capturing the attention of not just our fair city but that of the entire region." He exhaled slowly in an attempt to create dramatic tension.

"Quit stalling, you bearded old sheep," Jack muttered indignantly. "Everyone knows what trial you're talking about."

Grantor stabbed a gnarled finger into the air. "And that, dear viewers, was the conviction of Amateur League baseball player Aaron Hanks in regards to the brutal assault of fellow athlete Homer Baseman!"

Jack's mouth fell open in shock. **"WHAAAAAAT?!" **he screamed, angrily clenching his fists and thrusting them to his sides. "What about Ms. Fey's trial?!"

"What about it?" Washer asked crisply. "It's sad for me to say this, but just because you knew Mia, I knew Mia, we knew Mia, doesn't mean her sister's trial is TV-worthy!"

Jack turned to Washer and shook his head. "It was all over the news yesterday! I didn't see or hear _anything _about this Hankie guy! He didn't even kill anyone!"

Washer looked pensive for but a moment before shrugging his shoulders and turning his attention back to the TV screen. With a small sigh, Jack followed suit.

"...the incident, of course, occurred in a narrow alleyway located near the Center City Business District. At 7:35 AM on the 4th day of this Month, the victim, Mr. Homer Baseman, was brutally hit in the back of the head with a single blow from a wooden baseball bat." A photo of a light brown bat with distinctive yellow stripes appeared over Grantor's left shoulder. "The stripes painted on the assault weapon are, without a doubt, unique. Mr. Hanks is the only man in the DCLB who possesses a bat with such a lurid design."

Washer let out an indignant squawk. "What do you mean, 'lurid'? That bat is magnificent, wonderful, a work of art! I want one like that!"

_I'm not surprised... _thought Jack, staring at Washer's equally bizarre clothes.

"...Thanks to a vigilant witness, Mr. Hanks was quickly apprehended at a local eatery three blocks away."

_He went out to eat? Odd behavior for a criminal... even if he__** isn't**_ _a suspected murderer._

"Though it was but a single day in length, today's trial was somewhat lengthy, thanks to the efforts of esteemed Defense Attorney Robert J. Hammond." The familiar grumpy visage of Hammond appeared above Grantor's right shoulder.

"Oh, so it was the Hamster that got the case," Washer sputtered resentfully. "He gets all the big breaks... good to see him fail like the rest of us attorneys!"

"In spite of Mr. Hammond's insistence that Mr. Hanks did not commit this heinous crime, his labors were utterly destroyed by the meticulously organized case presented by award-winning prosecutor Manfred von Karma." Jack winced slightly as a picture of von Karma, his elderly face frozen in its usual harsh, uncompromising expression, appeared above Grantor's left shoulder.

Washer chugged the remainder of his drink before staring at the TV with a sudden, bizarre fury. "They're devoting all this time to von Karma winning a case? That's redundant, pointless, a waste of time! You might as well do a story on the sun rising each morning, or two and two making four!"

Jack mulled the odd analogy over for a moment; another addition to Manfred von Karma's thirty-nine year-long perfect win record did strike him as rather routine. "You know, Mr. Washer, I actually agree with you," he said softly.

Washer merely flashed an uneven smile and turned back to the TV.

"In addition to the fingerprints upon the assault bat, which indicated the suspect gripped it like a club, Mr. Hanks' fate was sealed thanks to the testimonies of three witnesses."

"Only Von Karma can build a case without tons of physical evidence. I'm telling you, that guy's inhuman, possessed, demonic!" squeaked Washer, his glass shaking in his hands.

"The first of these witnesses was, of course, the victim himself, infamous shortstop Homer Baseman of the Central DC Bullwhips. Though he did not see the victim before receiving the concussing blow, he did hear the voice of his attacker quite plainly!"

"_I guess that's credible... though I would've turned around if it were me," _thought Jack.

"While Mr. Hammond did manage to cast a small amount of suspicion on the credibility of Mr. Baseman's non-visual testimony, the latter's testimony was quickly supported by that of the second witness, 10-year-old Hyde Wolfe, a Center City paperboy. You see, young Mr. Wolfe was in the middle of his paper route when he witnessed the defendant entering the alleyway of the crime!

"Damn, that's rough," said Jack disparagingly. "I don't think I would have been able to testify in a courtroom when I was that young."

Washer grimaced. "And he must have had his story worked over by Von Karma! I bet he was petrified, terrified, scared stiff!"

"In spite of the matching testimonies of these two witnesses, Defense Attorney Hammond managed to invoke reasonable doubt in the judge's mind by questioning the credibility of such an exceptionally young witness. It was in light of this development that the impeccably skilled Mr. von Karma brought his final witness, Ms. Kate Felinity, to the stand. Amazingly, the testimony of this witness was far from circumstantial. From the vantage point of her alleyway window, she had seen the assault in its entirety!"

Jack let out a confused noise. "_If von Karma had a witness like that, why didn't he make her the first one on the stand?"_

"Leave it to von Karma to foresee the Hamster's objections. That man's conniving, scheming, a master manipulator!" shouted Washer, his body shaking as he started to lose his breath.

"The sudden revelation of this witness's significance had not been anticipated by Mr. Hammond, and thus he raised an objection to the late calling. However, Mr. von Karma quickly explained that the witness, being ninety-two years of age, was a rather frail individual, and thus wouldn't have been called to the stand had her testimony not become essential to the case's resolution."

_Oh..._

"According to a report from our courtroom correspondent, Mr. Mack Headshaker, this final testimony was quite excessive, as Ms. Felinity had a nasty habit of going off on bizarre tangents about the behavioral patters of her many pet cats. However, all of Miss Felicity's statements in regards to the actual assault were perfectly clear and meshed with the other testimonies exactly. Because of this, the Judge had no choice but to declare Mr. Hanks guilty on the charge of intentional assault. We at DNN have received word that an appeal will be filed at a later date, but with such an airtight case it is unlikely that Mr. Hanks will be able to escape another, speedier conviction. Once this occurs, Mr. Hanks will be incarcerated in one of District City's higher-security prisons for a period of twenty to thirty years, as is the standard for this unmistakably heinous crime."

At the sound of Grantor's latest words, Jack let out a hiss of frustration. _Assault may be heinous, but murder is even more revolting, _he thought furiously. _Why won't you talk about the Fey trial, damn it?!_

"After the commercial break," Grantor droned, "We will be discussing..." The newsman suddenly stopped speaking and stared bluntly at the screen; it appeared as if were bewildered by something occurring just behind camera.

"Quit stalling! Just say it!" blurted Jack, ignoring Washer's sudden cockeyed stare.

"...the Aaron Hanks assault trial in further detail!" blurted Grantor in an uncharacteristic display of emotion.

**"What?!" **For the second time in just a few minutes, Jack found himself utterly shocked. **"What else is there to talk about?!"**

"After all, this monumental conviction has several important implications! For example..." Grantor's eyes grew wide as he searched for an end to the sentence. "How will this verdict affect the careers of Mr. von Karma and Mr. Hammond? And what implications will Mr. Hanks' permanent absence have on the District City League of Baseball? I promise you that these answers will be answered after the break!" The sight of Grantor's uncharacteristically stressed face quickly faded out.

Jack stood from his chair, grabbed his remote, and turned the television volume down to a dull whisper with a weary sigh.

"Well..." muttered Washer, his voice laden with the uncertainty he normally had in the courtroom. "That was... er..."

"Weird? Strange? Out-of-place?" snapped Jack irritably.

Washer's wide eyes grew wider. "Yes! That's exactly what I was thinking! I couldn't have put it better myself!" he chimed.

_I figured you'd say that._ Shaking his head, Jack said, "That Grantor guy usually doesn't sound so... _spontaneous_ when he's doing his show. I wonder why he acted that way."

"Who can say?" asked Washer bluntly. "Maybe someone was... oh, I don't know... yelling at him off-stage?"

"If that were true, I think we would have heard it."

"Oh..." Washer toyed with his orange hair before letting out an uneasy laugh. "Shows you what I know."

_It sure does... _Jack thought wearily."You know, Mr. Washer, I've been hearing so many weird things these past few days that it's not really surprising me anymore."

Washer tugged at one of his neon suit sleeves. "Sounds like you've got a story to tell, Jack," he said absently. "If you want to talk, I'll try to listen... as long as you get me another drink first."

In spite of himself, Jack managed to smirk; even someone as inattentive as Upton Washer knew about his tendency to ramble. "All right, Mr. Washer. Would you like another Whiskey Sour?"

Washer limply waved a hand. "No... Just get me a light beer out of the tap. I want something with a bit more... er... stuff in it."

Jack nodded. "If you say so." As he prepared the drink, he said, "Ever since poor Ms. Fey got murdered, I've been seeing a lot of odd stuff happen."

"Odd stuff? Like what?"

"Well, first there's the fact that the police arrested her for the crime in the first place. From what Ms. Fey told me before she passed, her sister _never _would have done that."

Washer let out a laugh as he scratched the front of his head. "So... you fancy yourself a defense attorney now?" Judging by the smile on his face, he obviously thought that a foolish notion.

Jack frowned and shook his head. "Nope. I gave up on that fancy a _long_ time ago. But still, Maya Fey's arrest is only one odd thing, even if it's a big one." It was at this time that Jack had managed to fill a mug with the beer Washer had requested. He sat it before him with a weary smirk.

"Thanks, Jack," Washer muttered before he took a sip. "So, what's the rest of it?"

Jack placed a finger to his temple. "Well, yesterday they were trumpeting Maya Fey's guilt all over the media. Of course, they normally do that no matter who the defendant is... but it still felt harsher than normal. Plus, I've talked with some of the people working on the case... what the newspapers are saying and what's really going on are completely different. And then, after all that attention they poured on the case yesterday... I haven't heard one damn thing about it today! It's like it fell off the face of the Earth as soon as it started! Do you get that?"

Washer blinked once, and then twice. "I... think so. But what does that mean? It's all erratic, arbitrary, random!"

Jack frowned. "To be honest... I don't know. But seeing Mr. Grantor act all crazy on the TV only adds to the strangeness of it all. Throw that in with some damn suspicious sounding phone calls and it's almost like..." he trailed off as he searched for the correct words.

"Like what? Speak to me, explain to me, enlighten me!"

"I hate to say this... but it's almost like one of those conspiracy theory shows they have on the Documentary Channel... As if there's some big, shadowy organization manipulating this thing behind the scenes, you know?" Jack paused and firmly shook his head. "The truth probably isn't _that_ crazy, but still, there have been so many little oddities it makes my stomach hurt."

Washer sipped his drink before a thoughtful look appeared upon his face. "That doesn't sound quite proper, but... who knows? Maybe there's something about that case after all. In my opinion-"

Exactly what Washer's opinion was, Jack never learned, for it was that exact moment that the Gavel's door flew open with an incredible crash. Startled, Jack and Washer both turned to see an obviously irate-looking Robert Hammond storm his way across the room. His eyes intense; his teeth exposed, he made his way to the bar, forced himself upon a stool two seats away from Washer, smashed his fist against the bar and barked, **"Double Scotch on the rocks!" **before neither Jack nor Washer could speak so much as a word.

_And a hearty hello to you too, Mr. Hammond,_ thought Jack despondently. Knowing better than to egg on someone of Hammond's countenance while he was suffering a loss, he merely nodded before zipping to the alcohol shelves and grabbing a bottle of scotch posthaste.

Washer, on the hand, had no desire to use such discretion. "So... the great attorney Hammond finally _drops the ball_ on a noteworthy case. How does that make you feel?"

**"**Shut it, _Washer_...**" **Expectedly, Hammond was not in the mood to deal with smarmy puns.

"But it's only one little _error!"_

**"I said SHUT IT!" **Jack winced as he heard Hammond smash his precious bar counter with as much fist-power as he could afford. Thankfully, the clatter hadn't been enough to knock over the double scotch with ice that now regally sat on the back counter. Jack wasted no more time in giving it to Hammond—his bar counter didn't need to suffer any more collateral damage.

"Better." With that, Hammond downed the double shot in a matter of seconds, a slight tightening of the face his only reaction to the power of the dark brown liquor. He then slammed the glass down and grunted, "Another!" before Jack could even ask him whether he liked the flavor or not.

"Now, now, Hammond!" chimed Washer, absently twirling a bit of greasy hair between his fingers. "You don't want to jump off the deep end; you'll end up vomiting, retching, getting sick!"

"Didn't I tell you to shut it?" Hammond asked dangerously.

"Sorry," quipped Washer, obviously unwilling to press the man further.

Jack merely shook his head futilely as he handed his grumpy customer another drink. As soon as Hammond had downed it, he quickly asked, "You want to tell us about your case?"

"If you get me a double whiskey, we'll talk," spat Hammond, his teeth gnashing in annoyance. "Of course, you probably know everything from that hellish chatter-box over there." He deftly pointed at the bar television in order to underline his point.

Jack glanced at the devise with an absent smirk. "We learned some things," he said balefully. "They're still going on and on about you and that damn Hanks guy... don't know why... the trial over Ms. Fey's murder strikes me as far more important." Upon recalling the events of the past two days, Jack's expression quickly reverted to one of gloominess.

Hammond must have noticed this, as his angry continence softened for just a few brief moments. "Ms. Fey's death is quite a blow to the defense establishment... I'll miss her competition..." Hammond quickly shook his head, purging his expression of such weak emotions. "But that's neither there nor here. What matters to me is that that repulsive Mr. Hanks refused to follow my expert advice!" He again banged a fist against the table. "And he made me _lose _for it! Now get me that whiskey!"

Jack sighed. "Yes, Mr. Hammond."

In the time that Jack was making the drink, Washer broke the silence. "So... What advice did the _esteemed _Mr. Hammond give that could have saved Mister, uh... Mister Bank's case?"

Hammond let out a growl, but did not shout at his fellow defense attorney once again. "I had the perfect method with which to reduce Hanks' sentence, but... he pushed it away! The fool forced me to go against von Karma with a plea of total innocence!"

"Sounds interesting," muttered Jack, sitting Hammond's next drink before him with little fanfare. "What was your original plan?"

Hammond let out a huff before draining the whiskey just as he had the bourbons before it. After a brief pause, Hammond continued, "It's quite simple. In my research, I found that at the same time that Hanks was supposedly striking that smarmy Baseman with his dopey little bat, there was a robbery attempt at a convenience store approximately two miles away."

Confused, Jack merely scratched at his head.

Hammond let out a dramatic sigh. "I guess I should explain myself more clearly. You see... the man who robbed the connivance store used a baseball bat as his weapon of intimidation, much like any cash-strapped minor league player would. However, his efforts proved fruitless when the store owner activated a hidden police alarm. Upon realizing the police could come arrest him at any given moment, he left the store and fled towards the west, in the direction of the Center Cityrestaurant that Hanks was later arrested in. Finally, though the store security cameras didn't get a very good picture of the attempted robbery, the man that tried to get the money wore clothing and possessed a body structure similar to that of Aaron Hanks. So you see..."

"Wait!" shouted Washer. "Are you saying that...?"

"Yes. I found it a rather distinct possibility that Aaron Hanks tried to rob that convenience store. Thus, I attempted to explain to the fool that he should admit his crime. Had he done so, it would have been _obvious _to the judge that he couldn't be attacking Baseman two miles away! I would have won! I would have won and finally stripped von Karma of his God-damned perfect record!"

Washer stared at Hammond for a moment before breaking into a series of irritating giggles. "Mr. Hammond... did you actually believe that von Karma would crumble under the old double-jeopardy ploy? For heaven's sake, that's crazy, that's insane, that's absurd!"

Hammond held up a shaking fist and gritted his teeth; it was obvious that he was making a visible effort not to thrust it into the face of the oddly-dressed man sitting next to him. "Von Karma was there to find my client guilty of assault... nothing else," he growled.

"It doesn't matter! The most you could have done was make von Karma call a recess, and a short one at that! He'd shoot that alibi in one hour, flat!" He snapped with both hands to emphasize his point.

Uninterested in hearing Washer and Hammond's banter about von Karma's abilities, Jack turned and spared a glance at the TV screen. Unfortunately, he eyes fell upon nothing more than a tasteless commercial for classic British cars.

_I don't know why they bother advertising these things. Damn relics have terrible mileage, not to mention their steering wheels are on the wrong side..., _he thought absently. Just when he was about to ignore the television once more, however, the red sports car faded and Grantor appeared once more, a picture of Mia displayed just above his right shoulder. Jack's heart thumped heavily in his chest as he grabbed his remote and turned the volume up nearly as high as it could go.

"Hey!" squealed Washer. "That damn thing's so loud I can't hear myself speak, talk, think!"

Jack merely shushed the public attorney before he could get on a roll; he wanted to hear as much of Grantor's report as he possibly could.

"...though we are, of course, running short on time, I will attempt to inform you of today's progress in the Mia Fey murder trial without, er... dragging the details out too long." droned Grantor, chuckling awkwardly.

_Of course, you couldn't have done that with Hammond's case, couldn't you? _Jack thought angrily.

"As you are all well aware, Ms. Fey, a prominent defense attorney, was murdered the night before last in her very own law offices. Her sister, Maya Fey, was found at the scene of the crime and arrested for this grievous offense."

Jack pursed his lips in apprehension; he was getting rather sick of hearing facts he already knew.

"Maya Fey's trial, which started at 10:00 AM this morning, remains inconclusive. This occurred for a variety of reasons."

Jack let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding; as much as he hated to admit it, a part of him had expected Maya to get a guilty verdict regardless of the day's information blackout.

"The prosecutor of this case was Mr. Miles Edgeworth, a brilliant and youthful man who has yet to be defeated in court."

_Brilliant and youthful? You sure are pouring on the praise, Grantor._

"Much of Mr. Edgeworth's case against Maya Fey rested on the shoulders of one witness: Miss April May." Above Grantor's left should appeared a picture of a rather absent-minded looking woman with large, round eyes, pouting lips, and long pink hair.

_That woman must be the 'idiot' Edgeworth was talking about yesterday. Awww... she looks all sweet and innocent, like a Boston Cooler full of cherries, _thought Jack.

"Miss May claimed to witness the crime from the window of her room in the Gatewater Hotel, across the street from the scene of the crime. Her testimony, which at first appeared to be rock solid, was immediately attacked by Defense Attorney Phoenix Wright." A picture of Mr. Wright, his brown hair as spiky as ever, appeared above Grantor's right shoulder.

"Good god!" squealed Washer. "That man looks like a porcupine! His hair is crazy, eccentric, bizarre!"

Hammond waved a hand through the air. "Look who's talking," he spat, staring at the other man's bright orange locks.

Jack made another shushing noise before the two of them could start bickering once more.

"Thanks to Mr. Wright, Ms. May's testimony was found to contain numerous weaknesses, many of which pertained to her unusually accurate description of the murder weapon: this statue-shaped clock."

Jack gasped as the all-too familiar statue of a man lost in thought appeared in the spot above Grantor's left shoulder. It had to be the clock that Mia had shown him on her visit—_her final visit—_last month, it was the only such clock around that wasn't hidden away in an evidence locker somewhere.

_I can't believe that another person would use that thing as a murder weapon. It looked innocent enough when I saw it... when I _touched_ it... _His eyes still fixed upon the TV screen, Jack absently walked over to the little bar sink and started to wash his hands.

"After several testimonies, Mr. Wright managed to prove that Ms. May's information on this clock had been obtained through the use of a highly illegal wiretapping device. At the end of her testimony, she was arrested for her crime. As you can see from the official police photograph, she was rather displeased with this turn of events." A second later, Grantor's face was replaced by a still photograph of Miss May, obviously stuck in a middle of a fit of anger.

_'Displeased' is an understatement... _thought Jack as he stared at the formerly pretty witness's twitching eyes, downward-pointing eyebrows, and snarling lips. _Forget Boston Coolers... that girl's more like a pink lemonade spiked with 190-proof._

"In spite of this particular instance of the witness's guilt, however, it appeared that Mr. Edgeworth would still triumph and get Maya Fey her own guilty verdict. However, it was at this time that Mr. Wright made a rather sudden and desperate move."

"Ho boy..." muttered Washer. "Whenever I make a sudden and desperate move, I find myself losing the case five minutes later."

"He managed to get the court to call another witness, a hotel bellboy whose name is currently unknown, to the stand. In the course of one convoluted testimony, he got this bellboy to divulge the existence of yet another witness to the crime."

Jack's eyes widened. _Another _w_itness? Mr. Edgeworth didn't mention anything about __**that.**_

"In spite of Mr. Edgeworth's protests, the judge found this discovery grounds to suspend the trial for the remainder of the day. The significance of this witness, whose name is currently unknown to us, has yet to be determined." Grantor paused to blink owlishly several times before adding, "Dear me! It appears we're just about out of time! Of course, this means that I must conclude today's _Legal Lowdown. _Stay tuned for the best political news show on the airwaves, _The Straight Dope with Mary Jane, _right here on DNN. Ladies and Gentlemen, I bid you peace of mind and a good evening." With a brief fanfare, Grantor's newsroom faded away, replaced by one of DNN's pointless self-promoting commercials.

Temporarily stunned by the sudden end of the program, Jack turned the machine off without a word.

Hammond looked at Jack blearily; his drinks were finally causing him to lose some of his trademark focus. "Well..." he growled, "That was... irrelevant."

Washer rapidly bobbed his head up and down in agreement. "I'll say!" he exclaimed. "That Grantor guy is hopelessly out of tune... they stopped sending TV shows over the airwaves half a decade ago!"

Hammond let out a growl of despair. "I think you're missing the point, _Upton._"

"No, I think you're missing the point, _Robert."_

Jack hissed through his teeth; he couldn't even think clearly about what little he learned while the two defense attorneys sniped at one another.

"Don't you 'Robert' me, you..."

**BANG! **Too annoyed to merely speak up, Jack smacked a hand against the bar in order to get his customers' attention. He resisted the urge to crack a smile as both Washer and Hammond sent him deeply offended looks.

"Sorry about that," he said self-consciously. "But all of your back-and-forth arguments are giving me a headache." He paused to stare at the TV. "But seriously, what kind of a trial summary was that? It wasn't even half as long as all of that prattle about your case, Mr. Hammond."

Hammond blinked once before ruffling his hair and giving a jerky nod. "Indeed, Mr. Keeper. I can't understand why they'd make the, er, information about Ms. Fey's murder trial so... so short... when they dragged MY failure out to **twenty minutes!" **Hammond smashed his own fist against the bar counter in a fit of dejection.

Washer scratched at his head as he finished the last of his beer. "Well, what can you do? When it comes to defense, the news people have always been impartial, unbalanced, biased! When we lose, they scream it from the rooftops, and..." He paused fiddled with his tie as his face assumed an expression vaguely resembling deep thought. "I hate to praise the competition, but that Wright kid's got talent, aptitude, a gift! I haven't prolonged one of Edgeworth's trials in well over a year!"

"Of course," muttered Jack, frowning wearily.

Hammond gave the television any icy stare. "Those pea-brained reporters ought to play fair, damn it! Of course, that's not going to happen as long as they keep their heads so far up-"

Before Hammond could get the chance to finish his stereotypically rude statement, a jarring series of noises burst from Washer's suit pocket and resounded throughout the barroom.

Jack winced. _His ring tone sounds like a dying animal getting run over by a giant moped._ To his disgust, Washer held the phone in the air and cheerfully listened to the cacophony for several seconds before answering.

"Upton Washer, Attorney at Law! Who may I ask is talking, calling, speaking?"

A jaunty male voice sounded from the receiver next to Washer's ear; his already wide eyes grew wider with friendly recognition. "Ah! Niño! What's a guy like you doing blabbing to me at a time like this?"

Jack frowned at the annoyingly cheerful tones Washer used while on the phone; unlike Grossberg, he saw no need to step away from the bar counter while he had his conversation.

"Now, now, Niño, you always know I'm up for a favor! Just tell me what you need?" Washer's wide eyes gained an attentive quality as he listened to the response. "No, I haven't been assigned any cases... hell; I haven't had a decent case in a month." Another pause. "A murder case? Sounds great, magnificent, perfect! That'll do wonders for me!" He toyed with a strand of hair and smiled. "So... who's the poor soul that got themselves into this mess?"

As he listened to the reply, Washer's mouth fell open in shock. His eyes nervously flitted between both Jack and Hammond before he stammered, "A-are you sure, Niño?" A brief pause. "But isn't he...?" Another pause, longer this time. "All right, all right, if you're absolutely certain... can you tell me anything more?" This time, as he listened to the response, Washer's genial face turned to a small frown. "Dinner meeting? I guess I can do that. If I leave now, I should be able to get to your office in forty minutes or so."

Though Jack couldn't make out the caller's words, he suddenly sounded rather angry; Washer visibly shook upon hearing such a tone.

"I-I'm sorry! I'm not at the Defense Department Building right now! I told you I have no cases!" sputtered Washer, his voice tense. "I-I'm at the Prosecutor's Office, and that means I have to drive further, longer, extra!"

Again, the voice sounded irate. Jack tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach and make out the caller's words, but he couldn't.

"I'm not lying to you! I don't have any other cases! I'm at the Golden Gavel... you know, the bar in the basement?"

The man on the other end of the phone conversation returned to his earlier excited tones. Wiping his brow in obvious relief, Washer chimed, "Well of course it's still open! It reopened three years ago, remember, Niño?" A pause. "Yes, I assure you it's been that long. You know what they say, time flies when you're having fun!" He smiled as if he'd cracked a joke, not spouted a cliché. "Bartender's named Jack Keeper," he stated, sending the aforementioned bartender a nervous glance. "He replaced Mr. Busman, and he's had the job ever since." Another pause. "What's he like?" He paused for a moment, nervously taking in Jack's confused expression, and continued, "Well... he's... a class act! He's been entertaining nearly everyone in this here building these past three years, and I don't think I've ever heard of him making a mistake!" Another pause; the voice sounded even more fervent than before. "Yeah... he talks to the prosecutors and detectives all the time... likes to ask questions... he's a total insider! Oh, and he's smart as a whip, too! You should hear him go on about conspiracy theories..."

Jack flushed in spite of the unsettled feeling in his gut; coming from a man like Washer, so much glowing praise felt oddly wrong.

"...So, do you understand now, Niño?" A brief pause. "Good." Washer adjusted the neck of his suit in relief. "Just give me a sec to make my escape, and I'll be there in well under an hour... I promise!" He chuckled weakly. "See you soon, Niño." Washer let out a loud sigh as he pressed a button and snapped the phone shut.

Before Jack could even say a word, Hammond turned to Washer and growled, "What in the depths of hell was that about!?"

Washer violently flinched, as if Hammond had fired a gun. "W-what do you mean by that? That call was normal, typical, routine!"

Jack frowned and shook his head. "For a normal phone call, you seem awfully nervous." He tried to ignore the tense knot developing in his stomach; the odd range of emotions Washer had went to were similar to the ones Grossberg had gone through the night before. "Who's Niño?"

Washer adjusted his orange hair as a drop of sweat fell from his brow. "Niño is... an acquaintance, a companion, a friend of mine!"

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Sure..." he drawled. "And what did he want you to do?"

Washer's sweat grew even more profuse; it was fairly obvious that he didn't want to answer the question. "He... he wanted me to defend a murder suspect... I'm a defense attorney, remember? He's got a lot of connections, and he uses some of them to help me out when I'm down." He glanced through the room once or twice.

Jack absently rubbed the back of his head. "I guess that makes sense. Why'd you tell him so much about me, though?"

"A-about you?" stammered Washer, lilting. "Well, Niño's heard of the place before... he just hasn't been here since you showed up. He's a curious character." Absentmindedly, Washer tugged at his neon purple tie. "Now... how much for my drinks?"

Jack sighed and mentally added the cost of Washer's drinks in his head. "Nine-fifty."

Washer handed Jack a single banknote. "Here's a ten. You can keep it, Keeper." He flashed a nervous smile.

Jack nodded. "Thanks."

"No problem. Now then... Jack, Robert, if I may..." He lifted himself off his barstool, sauntered across the room, and left via the bar's only exit.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Hammond let out a huff. "Weirdo."

"Now, now, be nice, Mr. Hammond."

"Fine." Hammond looked vaguely thoughtful for a moment before finally saying, "Weird person."

Jack sighed. "Close enough." Feeling drained, he proceeded to made himself a cola, sit in his chair, and turn the television back on. _Hopefully, the newswoman will talk about something important for once, _he thought wearily.

The television screen was split; upon the left half sat a ditzy looking woman with long silver hair. "...and that's why... the Moderation Party... will take back... the legislature... in 2016..." she slurred. "We need... to adopt... a jury system... and end this... tribunal madness!"

"Liar!" snapped the man on the right half of the screen, a rather irksome looking character with sunglasses and a buzz cut. "You and your whole damn party are nothing more than a bunch of good-for-nothing flimflammers! Only under the guidance of a single judge can we quickly get this country's criminals off the streets and into jail... where they belong! That's why the Law and Order Party will maintain its majority for a long time to come!" Panting, the man wiped some sweat from his forehead.

The split screen cut away to a shot of host Mary Jane, an elderly yellow-haired woman whose serious dark clothing humorously contrasted with the shocked expression on her face. "That's sounds... nice, Congressman Roberto. Any more comments?"

"Ha ha!" exclaimed Hammond jovially. "Nothing more entertaining than watching a couple of pundits snap at each other! Get me a beer, Mr. Keeper! I've got to keep seeing this!"

Jack warily fulfilled Hammond's request; the man was starting to act rather inebriated. _At this rate, I'm going to have to call him a taxi before I let him go, _he thought balefully.

Once he'd sat the beer in front of Hammond, Jack sat in his chair and resigned himself to the fact that'd he have to watch a bunch of biased politicians scream at one another. The two party hacks, however, didn't even manage to finish their next argument before a fanfare blasted from the speakers and the ever-familiar "Breaking News" screen appeared in their place.

"Damn it!" Hammond shouted, "They were just starting to get into the good part!"

The corner of Jack's mouth twitched upward. "If we're lucky, this story won't take up too much time then," he said neutrally.

"Whatever." Hammond shot Jack an exasperated look before returning his attention to the TV monitor.

"Good evening, DNN viewers, I am Lily Jumper." As usual, the dark-haired reporter's heavily made up face didn't quite hide her fatigued demeanor. "I interrupt this broadcast of '_The Straight Dope with Mary Jane' _in order to bring you a rather important update in the events of the Mia Fey murder trial."

Jack jumped and sat up straight in his chair as his stomach performed a little flip-flop. _It'd better be important, if you're actually bothering to interrupt another show for once._

"As many of you viewers may know, Miss Mia Fey was found dead in the office of her law firm two days ago. A detective on the scene arrested her younger sister, Miss Maya Fey for the crime. Her initial trial started earlier today."

Jack let out an impatient growl. "Enough with the recaps! Get to the point!"

"I suggest ya' show some... restraint, Keeper," Hammond slurred morosely.

Before Jack could dwell upon the irony of _that _statement, Jumper continued, "Just a few minutes ago, we here at DNN have learned that the State has dropped all charges against Maya Fey in relation to her elder sister's murder."

Jack's breath caught in his throat. _Did I just hear what I think I just heard?_

"Thus, as of this hour, Ms. Fey is a free woman."

Jack managed to sit shock-still in his chair for all of two seconds. Then he was up on his feet, leaping up and down upon the floor, and pumping his fist into the air like a man possessed.

Hammond stared at Jack with an expression bordering on horror. "The hell's wrong with you, Keeper?! There grain alcohol in your soda or somethin'?"

Jack laughed and shook his head. "No, Mr. Hammond... don't you see?! I knew Mia wasn't murdered by her sister... I knew it!" No longer able to express his happiness in words, he clenched his hands into fists and whirled in a circle, his hair flying erratically from the force of the spin.

"Well, stop it already! Damn news broad's still doing somethin'!"

With no small effort, Jack managed to stop his celebration long enough to return his attention to the TV screen, where, once again, it appeared that Jumper was arguing with someone out of the range of the TV camera. Confused, Jack watched this exchange go on for nearly half a minute before the newswoman finally returned to her normal pose.

_Strange, _thought Jack. _If I didn't know better, I'd say she looked afraid._

Jumper blinked at the screen several times before stating, "Of course, this development comes in light of a new suspect being charged for the elder Ms. Fey's grizzly murder." She paused and adjusted her hair for dramatic effect.

Jack let out a growl at Jumper's constant sawing. "C'mon, you damn harpy! Just tell us who really killed her!" he hissed.

"Interestingly enough, the newly charged suspect is none other than the former suspect's so-called defense attorney... Mr. Phoenix Wright!"

Unlike when Jumper announced Maya as the original murder suspect two days before, Jack did not flail about. In fact, for a moment, he didn't react at all: he merely stared at the television as if it he'd never seen it before; his shock was so great that he did not move so much as an inch upon hearing the announcement.

Hammond made a noise somewhere between surprise and disappointment. Loosening his tie, he muttered, "Well... that was unexpected."

Thankfully, Hammond's voice was enough to force Jack out of his stasis. "_Unexpected?!_" he shouted. "_Hell, try __**impossible**_!!!" He paused to force out an exasperated breath before muttering, "This isn't right... this **can't** be right!"

Hammond cleared his throat and shook his head, the annoyance on his face clearly evident. "You simply can't be satisfied, can you, Mr. Keeper?" he said sardonically. "We might s'well hear what the news ghoul has to say first..." Again, he calmly returned his attention to the TV screen, where it appeared that Jumper was once again dealing with the nuisance of an off-camera interruption.

"All right, all right, I understand!" she snapped, her dismissive gaze focus on someone off to the left side of the screen. Hissing in discomfort, she turned her face back to the camera as she stated, "Although we are not currently in possession of an official police statement regarding Mr. Wright's arrest, DNN has learned from a... rather trustworthy and accurate source that Mr. Wright was surrounded and arrested just outside the offices of the Bluecorp Corporation, presumably while working on a faulty investigation that would throw detectives off of his trail."

_Once again, she's already making the defendant seem guilty before he's brought to trial. 'Trustworthy and Accurate source' my ass... _Jack thought savagely.

"In spite of his craftiness, police managed to take Mr. Wright into custody with relatively little fuss. In fact, as you can see by this official Police Department Photograph, he still appears rather surprised that he'd been caught in spite of his wiles!"

Jack let out a small noise of astonishment; while Phoenix Wright's picture wasn't as dramatic as Maya Fey's had been two nights ago, there were still some notable differences between the image on the screen and the pictures he'd seen on prior news shows and newspaper reports. First and foremost was the expression on his face: Mr. Wright didn't appear to be so much angry or upset as dazed at the fact that he'd been taken in. His eyes were wide, much of his skin was pale, and his mouth was partially open. Additionally, the spikes of his hair appeared to be somewhat off-kilter, and...

"Looks like the man took a blow to the face," Hammond grumbled. "Stupid rookie... tryin' to defy arrest like that."

Before Jack could consider that, Jumper continued, "As for the issue of motive, police sources remain unclear, but we have received word from elsewhere that Mr. Wright's motive is fairly easy to figure out. Considering that the dear Ms. Fey was Mr. Wright's direct superior and the only lawyer outranking him at the Fey and Co. Law Offices, it's rather obvious that Mr. Wright killed Ms. Fey in order to take her place at the head of an accredited law firm. Furthermore, by taking Maya Fey's case when she received the blame for this grizzly crime, Mr. Wright gained the opportunity to both argue in a well-publicized case and, presumably, to later run it into the ground in order to save his own skin. The entire news team here at DNN, myself included, can only hope that Mr. Wright will pay for this ghastly, ghastly murder." Jumper paused and fluffed her hair as she blinked her heavily made-up eyes. "More details on this newly reformed murder case will be released as they become available, but for now I must return you to _The Straight Dope with Mary Jane _already in progress. This is has been Lily Jumper of DNN reporting."

Not wanting to hear any more political yelling, Jack switched the TV off before the closing fanfare finished its blaring.

"Hey! I was watching that!" Hammond growled indignantly. "Why'd you turn it off now?"

Jack ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Sorry, Mr. Hammond. After three days, all this stuff about Ms. Fey's case is getting hard to take in. Maybe I should take tomorrow off..."

Hammond sighed. "Maybe. But... I don' see why you're so caught up in this anyway. First you're happy 'cause one person got off... and now you whine about the other? Don' seem like you're going to be happy no matter what happens, way you're carrying on," he brooded.

Jack frowned. "I guess..."

Hammond slammed his mug against the bar in satisfaction. "See? Now... I know you've always had a bit o' a soft spot for the defense, but... we're not all good guys here. I mean..." He sloppily waved his hands about. "There's nothin' I see that says the rookie man didn't do it, so..." More hand waving. "Why worry about it?"

Jack sighed. "I know; it's just..."

"Just what?" asked Hammond.

"Just..." Jack trailed off as several possible responses flashed through his mind. _Well, Mia helped out Mr. Wright when he was in trouble... Mia was willing to give him a decent job... She thought he was going places... hell; she had a__** thing**__ for the guy... It sounded like Wright was defending Maya with everything he had... not to mention all the people that have been acting strange, Washer included..._

"Well, Mr. Keeper?"

"Just everything," muttered Jack dejectedly. He paused to grab his cola off the back bar and took a large sip. "Tell me, Mr. Hammond," he added tentatively, "Do you think there's anything weird going on with the Fey Case? You've got to admit the change in defendants is rather crazy."

Hammond let out a heavy breath and drained the last of the beer that sat before him. Then, he lowered his eyes and stared at the empty mug, apparently lost in thought.

Jack allowed Hammond to ponder for nearly a full minute before cutting him off. Smirking slightly at the turnabout, he asked, "Well, Mr. Hammond?"

Hammond blearily looked up, took another deep breath, and then... "I'm just one man, Keeper! How the hell'm I supposed to know what's going on!?"

As the proclamation rang throughout the room, Jack lowered his head, sighed, and muttered, "For once, Mr. Hammond, it looks like you hit the proverbial nail right on the head."

* * *

**A/N: **And that's Part 4 for you. I'll admit that this part is just as OC-heavy as the last part was; even more so if you consider the fact that Robert Hammond's personality was constructed on only a small amount of canonical information. I'll admit, I've been struggling with OC-centrism in many of my more recent chapters. If you want a bigger warning, I'd say that, in addition to Chapters 8 and 9, Chapters 10 and especially 16 (Which I'm writing right now) are the most off-kilter of the bunch. 11-15 and 17-21 should be decent, though. Now then, in order to show that most of my in-bar OCs aren't completely superfluous, allow me to present my justification for Upton Washer, the newest of the bunch. 

**The Canonical Inspiration for Upton Washer: **"I have friends in the local lawyer's association, you see. You'll be given a lawyer so stupendously inept that they make even you look competent."

_-Redd White, GS1 Case 2 (Investigation Phase 2)_

In the very earliest plot outlines for GS1 (So early that Mia wasn't going to die, Maya was studying to be a lawyer, Turnabout Sisters was the first case of the series, and spirit mediums didn't exist), Winston Payne was designed to be Phoenix's weak-ass defense attorney, not a whipping-boy prosecutor. Since this idea was altered to Phoenix Wright defending himself in GS1-2 Trial Day 2, I decided to conjure this hypothetical inept defense attorney out of thin-air. I don't view Upton Washer (I finally made a name with a decent pun; most of my original names are proper pun names from now-on) as completely identical to Winston Payne, but his thin voice and bad hair are enough to make the two characters somewhat similar. Also, since these OCs of mine are better when they fill more holes in the canon than one, there is another role, later in the game, that he takes part in. (Obvious Hint: In GS1, where is there a case that doesn't have a known defense attorney?) In fact, of all the originals that I have domineering various parts of this story, Washer is one of the most canon-integrated. Additionally, even though I created his horrendous physical appearance and triple-synonym speaking style to make him annoying and unlikeable, he ironically became a rather well-liked OC when I posted this over on Court Records. Makes you think...

Well, that's it for this chapter. On Court Records, the next chapter (II-5) weighed in at a browser-busting 30,000 words, so it will be split into three logical parts (II-5-1, II-5-2, II-5-3) when I post it here. I don't want to scare people away, after. As for the plot... let's just say that Jack gets a chance to play Defense Attorney, and events quickly spiral out of control from there. I have to tweak the content a bit, but I'll hopefully have the first bit up in a week or two for your perusifying needs.

-DSL


	10. Ep II Part 5, 1: Brush with Greatitude

**Note: **Phoenix Wright / Gyakuten Saiban, its settings, plot points, and characters, are all the property of Capcom, and are being used here without permission. This chapter takes place during the 'missing day' between GS1-2 Trial Days 1 and 2; Spoilers for that case and references to others, I'm sure.**  
**

**Episode II: A Toast to the Sisters**

_Part 5-1: Brush with Greatitude_

**September 8****th****, 2016, 6:42 PM**

"Wow, Jack," muttered Donny Docket, staring at the piece of paper in his hand with an expression of startled awe. "This is really... something, that's for damn sure."

Jack smiled lightly; he could tell that his best friend was only trying to be polite. "It's alright, Don," he said. "It only took me a few minutes to make it, anyway."

Donny blinked twice and shook his head. "No, it's all right... I just didn't realize you could be so... perceptive. So this is all the stuff you could think of?"

Jack nodded. "Yep. I didn't realize how much of it there was until I actually bothered to write it all down." He paused and shot Donny a coy smile. "Can I have it back, please?"

Startled, Donny merely nodded, sat the paper back on the bar counter, and slid it back to Jack with little fanfare.

"Thank you," said Jack politely. From when he'd finished opening the bar at 2:00 until Donny stopped in, Jack had had no customers, and thus, he'd spent the idle time mulling over the various things he'd seen in the three days previous. Bored, he'd even written them down on a spare pad of paper so that he could try and find connections between them. Smiling, he paused for one moment to again admire his handiwork.

**Odd Things I Have Seen**

_Maya accused of murder first – Nobody thought otherwise_

_Murder trial evidence not thoroughly examined_

_P.P. Parsons scheduling late-night legal meeting with Edgeworth_

_Mr. Grossberg mad at himself about refusals – What's he hiding?_

_Grossberg's Phone Call about Paintings – Very Odd Debate_

_Yesterday's News – They talked about Hammond's case and ignored Mia's_

_Washer talking to some guy named "Niño" – acting weird(er)_

_Sudden switch of defendants in Ms. Fey's trial – What the hell?_

Shaking his head, Jack then returned his gaze to Donny with a sigh. "It's definitely longer than I first expected it to be... but it hasn't really helped me at all. All it's telling me is that _something_ might be going on, but I have no clue as to what."

Donny sipped his beer appreciatively. "I don't think there's any point in telling you you're wrong, is there?" He spun the piece of paper around and looked at it again. "Have you seen Mr. E or 'Tective G today... tried to talk to them about this?"

Once again, Jack shook his head in the negative. "Nope. I tried calling Detective Gumshoe a little after five, but I only got some stupid message saying the call couldn't be completed. Considering what he knows about cell phones, I wouldn't be surprised if he kept it turned off without one of those voicemail programs picking up the slack."

Donny gave the paper another thoughtful look. "What about Mr. E?"

Jack gave his friend a small smirk. "As much as I wanted to, I don't think Mr. Edgeworth would appreciate getting a call from his bartender while he's in the middle of preparing a case."

Donny laughed. "I guess not."

"I had hoped that he would have shown up here by now. When a case becomes this hectic, he usually stops by after the investigation's done."

"Well, maybe he's not done yet, then."

"That could be," Jack said tentatively, "but still... _Most_ of the facts of the new Fey case are the same; they just managed to change defendants somehow. Unless Edgeworth comes here, I don't think it's my place to bother him about the details of his job." He sighed. "I wish I could find a way to learn more... to _do _more... the way things are going, all the unknowns about this case are killing me!" He tugged the collar of his button-down shirt in exasperation.

Donny shot Jack a sharp look. "Man, you look like you need a _vacation._ I haven't seen you act this stressed since La..." he trailed off and shook his head.

_He's right._ _I am starting to go off my nut._ Frowning, he asked, "What do you think I should do, Don?"

"I suggest you watch some TV, get your mind off of it all," Donny said patiently. He drained the rest of his beer and leapt to his feet; the bulge of his stomach shook rather amusingly from the swiftness of the action. Reaching a hand into his back pocket, he continued, "Hell, while you're at it, you open this up to the comic pages and read those." He extracted a rolled up newspaper and sat it on the counter. "It's not much, but it's the best you can do without getting drunk off your own stores."

"If you say so, Doctor Don," muttered Jack, unrolling the newspaper so that he could see the front page. Upon viewing the headline, he disdainfully added, "Of course, I could also read the story about Mr. Wright's arrest, which happens to take up most of the newspaper you been keeping hidden for the last half of an hour."

"Say what?" Donny snatched back the newspaper so he could look at it himself. "Oh, yeah, that too." he finally said, scratching at his head sheepishly. "I'm surprised I missed that; I must have gone straight to the sports page today."

Deciding it'd be a waste of energy to get angry over a newspaper, Jack said, "It's all right, Don. I'll read this, and then I'll watch something nice and stupid... there's got to be four or five reality shows on the TV at any given time anyway."

"Good for you, Jack," Donny said cheerfully. He reached into his pocket, extracted a wallet, and pulled out some banknotes. "Three for the beer," he said, sliding them across the counter.

"Thanks." As Jack placed them in the old cash register, he continued, "Where are you going to go now? Home?"

Donny smiled. "Yeah, but only to change my clothes. Once I get my party outfit on, I'm going to head to the District Hideaway!"

"That's one of the big clubs in the Center City area, right?"

Donny smiled. "It sure is! Hopefully, there'll be a girl there who's willing to give good old Don Juan a chance," he gushed.

_That'll be the day, all right, _thought Jack, rolling his eyes. "Good luck, Don."

"That's the spirit! Bye, Jack!" Donny whistled a cheerful tune as he made his way across the room and out the bar. As soon as the chime went off and the door closed behind him, Jack put Donny's mug in the sink, moved his chair near the TV, and sat on top of it with a sigh of content.

_Donny may not have the skills of a bartender or a lawyer, but he probably knows what he's talking about when it comes to relaxing. As soon as I read this damn newspaper story, I'm going to take his advice. _Having assured himself of his plan of action, Jack leaned forward, grabbed the newspaper—a _District City Examiner_—and unfolded it so he could see the headline in full.

**"Wright's Wrong Move," **he read. _An attempt to be funny through use of a pun. How nauseatingly typical._

Before he tried to read the text, Jack stared at the two large pictures that were fixed just below the headline. The one on the left he'd already seen; it was the Police Department Photo from last night's breaking news story. The other picture, however, was completely new to Jack: it showed the lowest floors of an oddly bright blue building; the photograph was focused on the sets of glass doors that obviously formed the structure's front entrance.

Jack absently read the caption: _Accused murderer Phoenix Wright made his last stand here, in front of the main entrance of the Bluecorp Building in the Center City Business District._

_Such a grand-looking place, _Jack thought dully. _Sparkling doors of crystalline glass just a few feet away from the curb of the otherwise busy street way._

"Oh dear, I must be becoming a poet," Jack verbalized luridly. Shaking his head in amusement, he started to read the article.

"**WRIGHT'S WRONG MOVE"**

_Young Defense Attorney Arrested In Front of Center City Crowd_

By Henrietta Happenstance

_Yesterday evening, local defense attorney Phoenix Wright was arrested and charged for the murder of his boss, defense attorney Mia Fey. Mr. Wright, a very cunning man by nature, might have gotten away with his insidious crime had he not tried to take his deceptions too far._

_"From what I understand, Mr. Wright had managed to fool many of our best and brightest into believing that the defendant's sister was the culprit," said Neville Specter, District City's Chief of Detectives. "However, when he tried to take his 'investigation' to illogical extremes, he was recognized for his crimes and arraigned by several police officers."_

_Indeed, multiple members of law enforcement were involved in Mr. Wright's arrest, which took place in front of the Bluecorp Building, an incredibly large edifice located in the heart of Central District City. After his arraignment, Mr. Wright was interrogated for several hours, but as of yet he futilely maintains a plea of innocence, citing his lack of motive. Several legal experts, however, disagree with this foolish notion._

_"I possess the belief that Mr. Wright committed this horrific act for the sake of power," said Mr. Bill Grantor, legal commentator and host of DNN's _'Legal Lowdown'. _"By eliminating the person in a position nearest to his, he gained the opportunity to take control of a law firm that's been earning prestige in legal circles for nearly three years now."_

_The quest for power, however, may not be the only motivation behind Mr. Wright's actions. Other, more basic theories have been cropping up throughout the last twenty-four hours._

_"From what I've heard, the victim and the defendant had been involved in a rather, er, steamy relationship at the time of the incident," Specter said. "I am, in fact, quite intrigued by the possibility that the victim possessed some sort of lapse of morality, which could logically..."_

Exactly what logic Chief Specter was talking about, Jack never learned, as he'd thrown the newspaper to the ground with a cry of disgust. "Stupid rag has gone too far..." he muttered darkly. "It's one thing to paint a defendant a killer... but... Ms. Fey, immoral? I ought to put this in the sink and burn it."

Angrily, he picked the newspaper up and stared at it one more time. _It's definitely a load of rubbish,_ he thought absently, _but it's definitely an odd thing, too_. With mild trepidation, he stashed the paper under the bar and hastily scribbled a note about it at the bottom of his list.

_And now that that's taken care of,_ he thought curtly, _I'm going to see what piece of mind-numbing madness I can find on this silly TV set. _After briefly standing up and pouring himself a cola, he sunk into the lightly padded back of his old chair. Drink firmly in one hand and remote in the other, Jack settled down, turned the set on, and started flipping through channels.

**Click!**

"YEEEEEAH! Coming up next on the Crazy-Ass Techno Countdown is our #6 song... Justice-Man Forever!" shouted a tall young man with a bright pink Mohawk, skin tight leather clothing, and several dozen facial piercings.

"Not my glass of wine, there..." muttered Jack.

**Click!**

"Today, in a watershed moment for modern science, medical researchers have proven that sticks of wax have _no_health benefits when applied directly to the skin. Whether these findings translate to common glue sticks has yet to be determined..." droned an astute looking woman with orange-yellow hair.

_My tax money better not have funded that waste of time..._

**Click!**

"And now... we shall determine which of these various bikini models and shirtless male B-celebrities can make it across the perils of the swimming pool of mayonnaise!" declared a tall, silver-haired woman, her taut and expressionless face reflecting the results of at least a dozen elaborate plastic surgeries.

Jack shook his head as gazed at a line of scantily clad men and women, standing before what was undoubtedly an Olympic-sized swimming pool filled with mayonnaise.

_Normally, I'd try to avoid this, _he thought resignedly, _but it's definitely about as mindless as I can get on TV around this hour. Heck, even repeats of the Steel Samurai require more brain activity than this reality junk._ With a heavy sigh, Jack leaned back and started to watch, but he didn't even get to see the start of the race before...

**Bring-ling-ling!** Jack jumped as a loud electronic jangling emanated from the bar's phone, affixed to an empty area of the wall nearby. Grumbling at the interruption, he forced himself up from the chair, walked all of two steps, wrenched the black cordless receiver from its identically black storing cradle, and thrust it to the side of his head without fanfare. "This is Jack," he said flatly. "Who's speaking to me?"

"Ah, J-Jack! H-how are you doing; faring; feeling this fine evening?!"

Jack frowned slightly; not only had he never received a phone call from Upton Washer in recent memory, but the man sounded even more nervous than what was typical for him. "I guess I'm all right, Mr. Washer," he said cautiously. "I hate to sound rude, but for what reason are you calling me at this hour?"

A pause, and then: "W-well, Jack, the reason for my call is quite basic; ordinary; simple! I n-need you to get your bar ready for some VIPs!"

Jack made an absent noise. "VIPs...?"

"Yeah! You know... bigwigs; important people; major players? I've got two of them with me and we're heading straight for you, pal!"

_Somehow, I never saw Washer as a 'pal' kind of guy, _Jack thought dully. In a relaxed voice that hid his bewilderment and excitement, he asked, "So, Mr. Washer... exactly who are these... 'Major Players' of yours?"

The phone fell largely silent; Jack could only make out a few vague, muffling tones that indicated that Washer was undoubtedly speaking with someone else. After a few seconds of this, Washer finally stated, "N-now, now, Jack, there's no reason to get nosy; inquisitive; curious! You'll find out when we arrive!"

Annoyed, Jack covered the receiver with his hand and let out a mild oath. Taking a deep breath to keep himself relaxed, he asked, "And exactly how long will it be before you and these mysterious big-shots... arrive?"

Another pause. "Oh... I'd say around... t-ten minutes! Better get cracking, Jack!"

_He's really not putting me in a good mood here. _Running a frustrated hand through his hair, Jack levelly stated, "I guess you're right. I'll be seeing you, Mr. Washer."

"All right, Jack! Goodbye; farewell; sayonara!" An instant later, the connection broke and was replaced by a dial tone. Jack turned off the cordless phone and sat it back in the cradle with a sigh.

"I wish Washer would have explained himself better... that man makes me want to tear my hair out sometimes," he announced to the empty room. "Like it or not, I'd better make sure this place is in working order, though."

Turning off the TV with a click of the remote, Jack set himself to making sure the Gavel was as presentable as it could be. Grabbing a trusty washrag out from under the bar, he started by leaving the main bar area and wiping each of the bar's four wooden tabletops to a healthy gleam. Once he'd finished with that, he sat the rag down and proceeded to set the pool table up in case two of the three visitors wanted to play a game.

_Of course, that leaves someone with nothing to do... I'd better make sure the pinball machine is working, _Jack thought absently.

Placing a coin in the gimmicky machine, he managed a little smile as the various lights started illuminating the playing field, a darkly whimsical display of bumpers and obstacles set atop a board that depicted scenes of fancifully old magic tricks.

"Pinball Magic." He quietly read the machine's name as he reflexively launched the balls up the ramp and let them fall back down below the bright yellow flippers. "I don't know what the pinball company was thinking when they made this contraption," he mused. "They should have tried making video games instead."

As soon as the pinball game was done declaring his intentionally abysmal score, Jack quickly looked at the walls and the floor (they were fairly clean), and managed a glance at the little bathroom (it was clean too). Having done the best he could do as far as the public space was concerned, he took his washrag back to his bar area and proceeded to wipe the bar counter down as best as he could.

_I wonder how a person such as Mr. Washer got into close contact with so-called important people, _he thought absently. _He doesn't seem like the sort of man that would really attract the rich or powerful..._

About a third of the way down the bar, Jack noticed a ring shaped stain had congealed where Donny's drink used to be. Frowning, he tightened his grip on the washrag and started scrubbing the area harder.

_And, while I'm at it, exactly how important can Washer's _'_big shots' really be? I mean, I've been tending to famous legal workers for years. In fact, I've served pretty much all the Chiefs this city's legal system has to offer: Chief Gant, Chief Specter, Chief Wayside, hell, even Lana, I guess... _Jack paused for just a moment before continuing to work his way down the bar.

_Also, Mr. Washer sounded damn high-strung while he was bragging his techno-colored head off. Considering that Washer's always high-strung to begin with, that's quite odd. I guess he could just be nervous on the phone, like he had been with that 'Niño' guy yesterday evening. _Vainly shaking his head, Jack quickly started wiping the last bit of the bar counter.

It was only once he finished the wipe-down and returned his precious washrag to a spot near the sink that he heard the all-too-familiar door chime. Turning around, he was greeted by the odd sight of the fairly average-sized Mr. Washer leading two of the most burly-looking men he'd ever seen to the stools on the other side of the bar counter. In fact, Washer reminded Jack of nothing more than a decorative swizzle-stick with a couple of bodyguards as he let his two companions sit down on either side of him.

"A good evening to you, Mr. Washer," Jack stated evenly. By speaking first, he hoped that Washer would provide him with the identities of his acquaintances.

"Yes! G-good e-evening to you too, J-Jack!" Obviously, Mr. Washer's nervousness was even more prevalent then ever. After pausing a moment to wipe the sweat of his brow and collect himself, he continued, "I-I'd like you to meet my... friends." Pointing to the man his right, he gulped, and continued, "This man is M-mister Peter Parsons. Y-you know... the p-public p-prosecutor?"

_Oh my..._ Jack thought dazedly._He hadn't been lying about his 'big-shots' after all. _In the pause of a second, Jack quickly memorized everything about Prosecutor Parsons' appearance. He had a stern, square face, complete with a creased forehead, heavy jaw, and cold, pale-blue eyes. His dark green suit was not that of a businessman but an army officer, complete with brass buttons, a rather familiar looking row of gold metals pinned on his chest, and silver rank insignias—replicas of the State prosecutor's badge—gleaming on each shoulder. When combined with his shaved head and prominent barrel-chest, it gave him the airs of a man who shouldn't be messed with.

Remembering what Donny had told him about Mr. Parsons two days earlier, Jack quickly put his feet together and lifted his hand to his forehead in salute. "I am Jack Keeper. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir!" he snapped enthusiastically.

Parsons blinked several times in surprise before allowing his face to break into a rather un-military looking smile. "At ease, Keeper," he grumbled, pleasantly returning the salute himself. "I must admit, I'm looking forward to trying out this canteen... especially after all the stuff Redd told me about it... isn't that right, Redd?" Both he and Washer turned their heads toward the man on the far left. Jack quickly followed suit, and his eyes widened in surprise.

Jack felt an odd familiarity upon looking at 'Redd'; he realized almost instantly that he'd seen him somewhere before. Physically, he had an appearance roughly equivalent to Washer and Parsons blended together; while his figure was as large and hulking as the Public Prosecutor's own, his absurd pink suit, lurid jewel-pattered tie, and the obnoxiously large diamond adorning his breast looked like things that only Upton would have worn. Redd's face, and not his suit, however, was what set off bells of recognition in Jack's mind—the sharp purple eyes, dark eyebrows, unnaturally large smile, and (above all else) finely groomed purple hair were all enormously familiar to him.

"You're a well-known person," Jack said, pointing at Redd uncertainly, "But for the life of me I cannot remember your last name." Fiddling with a button on his shirt, he added, "I guess I should get out of this bar more often."

Redd's already wide smile grew wider. "Is that so?" he asked, his tone flamboyantly pompous. "Well, I guess I can forgive you this once, as a drink-usher such as yourself possesses a most decorative excuse for not knowing my full title, in spite of how exalted my personage may be. I am Redd White, and I am the President, or, to use an equivalent term, the C.E.O. of the Bluecorp Conglomerate."

Confused, Jack rubbed at his temple. _Drink-usher? Exalted personage? What kind of fruity phrases are those? _A second later, however, this confusion turned to surprise as he realized why White seemed so familiar. _Redd White... his face is featured on bus advertisements and billboards throughout the city. No wonder, considering how he's the President of that Bluecorp Company" _A second later, his eyes widened further as he realized the significance of White's job. _The Bluecorp building... that was the place Mr. Wright was arrested! _Jack adjusted his collar and tried to look as dignified as he could; with customers such as these he might finally be able to get some of the answers he'd been looking for!

"Is there something wrong, Mister... Mister Taker?" White added haughtily. "My compatriots and I are getting quite unpatient, or should I say insettled, by your lack of bartending initiative!"

N_o need to act rude and screw up my name, _Jack thought roughly. Holding back his indignation behind a mask of professionalism, he stated, "I'm sorry, Mr. White. I... I'm just trying to take all the information in, you know? If the three of you know what you want, just give me your orders."

In spite of looking rather ill, Washer managed to speak first. "I'll have a whiskey sour, and make it a d-double," he stammered.

Parsons went next. "Some extra-fine beer would hit the spot for me!"

Nodding, Jack then automatically directed his attention to White. "And you, sir?"

White's face briefly lost its jovial look as he scratched his chin in deep thought. After a few seconds, he finally spurted, "I desire a Cosmopolitan, if you please!"

Jack smirked and gave the three a little bow. "Just a few minutes, then." As he made his way to the bar shelves and started taking down the bottles he would need for the three rather different drinks, White began to speak, his tone more than loud enough for everyone to hear.

"The Golden Gavel... such a cheerific place." Even when reminiscing, there was a streak of arrogance in his voice that didn't quite go away. "I have not bothered to access this locale for quite sometime... In fact, not since your precedent was here, dear bartender."

"Would that be Mr. Busman you're talking about, Mr. White?" asked Jack, mixing together a whiskey sour with little conscious thought.

"Why, I am certainly speaking of him, Bartender! Are you even attempting to audit my words?"

"Er, yes..." muttered Jack, turning his head so that he wouldn't contaminate any drinks with forehead sweat. "It's just that I've never come in contact with a dialect quite as... unique as yours before."

Another hearty laugh, this time from Prosecutor Parsons. "Well, Redd here's always made his own rules when it comes to vocabulary," he said, his voice still rather cautious in spite of its militancy. "It's one of the things that helped him rise to the top of the corporate chain of command!"

White laughed heartily. "You are too flattericous, Mr. Person," he said offhandedly.

"I see," muttered Jack, cautiously filling Parsons' mug with premium beer. Turning to face White, he added, "Forgive my ignorance, but what type of company is your Bluecorp, anyway?"

White's already large smile grew larger. "If you must know, my good bartender, we at Bluecorp specialize at buying and selling information. In the past ten years, I have built it up from a singleton-run operation to one of the most spectakerific research conglomerates in the world!"

Jack made a thoughtful noise. "So... by information, would you mean mailing lists? Name, age, consumer habits, that sort of thing?"

"That would be practically correct. Is that not right, compadres?"

"Aye," Parsons said tersely.

"That would be right; accurate; a truth!" Washer added ungainly.

Seeing that he would get no more information on the subject at the time, he merely finished making White's cosmopolitan, sat all three drinks before their owners, and waited patiently for their replies.

Both Washer and Parsons drank without a word. Instead, they turned towards Mr. White, obviously interested in hearing his opinion first. Jack began to feel nervous as White took great care in wafting and sniffing his cocktail before taking but a tiny sip.

"Well?"

White made several smacking noises with his tongue before allowing himself to swallow. He paused just a moment more and declared, "This is a most splendiferous concoction! I only last tasted such a decadent cosmopolitan when Mr. Busboy made it for me!"

As Parsons and Washer nonverbally agreed with White's opinion of his drink, a calculating expression crossed Jack's face. "You sound rather fond of Mr. Bus**man**," he said neutrally.

White took a large sip of his drink before nodding voraciously. "That is a truth! For you see, no insult towards your personage withstanding, Busboy was definitely the paramount example of what a good drink-usher should be. He was a kindly man... he made incorrigibly good drinks... he knew a great many things about the workings of the system... and he was _very_ cooperative. A fatabulistic combination, wouldn't you think?"

_Well, I've definitely heard all of that before, except perhaps the 'cooperative' bit, _Jack thought absently. "That sounds about right," he said. Placing a finger against his chin, he added, "Was your fondness of Busman the reason you've never dropped by here since I got the job?"

White looked vaguely pensive for a moment before leaning forward and crossing his arms. "I believe you could say that, bartender. Once Busboy had so... sadistically passed onward, I decided to go to other drink-warehouses out of respectitude. I received word that this place had opened from numerous personages, but I honorifically did not think to make my presence here until now."

_Odd way of showing your respect, if you ask me... _Pulling a stray strand of hair out of his face, Jack asked, "So... why exactly did you decide to come here now, then?"

White took another sip of his drink before sitting back up, his cheerful visage once again firmly in place. "Why... it's quite simplistic, bartender! Mr. Wash-up here was ever so kind as to again bring this lovely location to the front-most sector of my mind!" Almost mindlessly, he spun his barstool so that he faced Washer and not Jack. "Isn't that right, my friend?" he shouted, slapping the defense attorney in the small of his lime-suited back.

Upton jumped in surprise from the contact; he hadn't expected the conversation to suddenly jump to him. "I-I guess that would be an honest; fair; balanced description of things," he trilled nervously.

Jack frowned as Upton returned to silence. _Washer hasn't been talking much, and Mr. Parsons has been saying even less_, he thought critically. _And they don't seem to care in the slightest that Mr. White's butchering their names and dominating the conversation. _Tucking those thoughts in the back of his mind, he looked at Washer and asked, "So... when were you and Mr. White chatting things up about little old me?"

Upton flinched visibly at the question; Jack noticed that beads of sweat were starting to form on his forehead. "W-well, it was when I-I... er..."

"Now, now, Uppity, there's no reason to be impolite to the bartender, is there?!" White interrupted loudly. Looking Jack in the eye, he added, "After all, I believe it to be quite apparent to him that the two of us spoke, at length, over last night's supper arrangements. You heard us conversing upon the telephone, did you not?"

Jack's eyes widened with surprise; given that Upton only talked on his phone once the prior night, he could draw but one conclusion. "Wait..." he muttered, giving his shirt collar a compulsive tug. "So that means... you're the man called Niño?"

White merely downed the last of his Cosmopolitan and widened his ever-present smile. "But of course! Blanco Niño, or Niño for short, is my pseudonym... my nick-name, if you please. Of course, only my dearest compadres are allowed to call me that... is that not correct, fellow drink-mates?"

Parsons sat down his nearly empty beer mug and nodded. "That is an affirmative! Niño and I have been brothers-in-arms for several years now!"

Upton merely nodded, his fingers fumbling over his now empty drink tumbler.

Noticing this, Jack asked, "Would you like another one, Mr. Washer?"

This time, Washer merely shook his head in the negative, fidgeting faster than ever.

_Washer's acting progressively more strange... just as he was during his conversation with White last night... I wonder what Mr. Parsons thinks of him asking requests from the defense? _Seeing no reason to keep silent on this point, Jack leaned forward and asked, "So... how did things go with that murder suspect you were talking about?"

To Jack's surprise, both Washer _and_ Parsons reacted to this question, the former going into stammers while the later flinched and nervously toyed with the medals on his chest.

Jack frowned, his mind abuzz with thought. _A low-level defense lawyer and one of the most powerful Prosecutors in the State... both of them equally upset about the same case. I think I know where this is going... but... what does it mean? _Jack decided to take a risk and glare back and forth between the two suspicious-looking men, but he didn't even get an answer before White intervened.

"There's no need to resort to intimidating tacticries, bartender, no need at all! I find it ineffable that you would lower yourself to such a level! Now then..." White leaned back slightly and turned his arms outward; almost magically, the various jewels on his hands and chest twinkled in the bar light. Allowing himself a small chuckle, he continued, "The man whom I'd been speaking to Wash-up about did not partake inhis servitude. A shame..."

"I see," muttered Jack dully. "And, if I may be so bold to ask... what was this defendant's _name?"_ Jack hated sounding so confrontational, but he had to make sure that he wasn't just imagining a connection between this set of oddities and all the ones he'd seen before.

Unfortunately for Jack, Washer merely jumped yet again and placed his head in his hands. He was clearly trembling, and seemed unable to speak. Parsons turned his barstool away from Jack and began to conspicuously rub the top of his shaved head. Alarm bells started going off in Jack's mind as he fixed White with an intense questioning glare.

Predictably, the irksome man was not annoyed in the slightest. "Now, now, bartender... there's no need to be hasteful! I believe that it is quite obvious that my compadres are suffering from an infliction of the cranium, and thus, are in need of more liquids. I believe it best that I, in my unfathomable generosity, buy their next drinks. Do you not agree?"

_Okay, now he's just trying to distract me... _Avoiding the urge to grind his teeth in frustration, Jack stated, "Fine. Mr. Parsons; Mr. Washer, what would you like me to get you?"

Turning his barstool back to its former position, Parsons looked thoughtfully at the back of the bar before stating, "I'll have a-"

"Whiskey!" White interrupted grandiosely. "A fine whiskey for both of these gentlemen, if you please."

"Uh, are you sure that they actually want-"

"Yeah, w-whiskey!" Parsons announced suddenly. "That's exactly what I was going to say, Mr. White! You were going to ask for one too, weren't you, Mr. Washer?!"

Washer's snapped his head upward in response to the direct question. "Y-y-yes, I was!" he squeaked unconvincingly. "I c-cannot help but admire the flavor; the quality; the brownness!"

_'Brownness'? Dear God, Washer's synonym train is starting to derail... _Knowing that arguments would be futile, Jack merely nodded his head, turned around, and grabbed one of his better (and fuller) bottles of whiskey off of a bar shelf.

"This Wiseguy brand Whiskey's been aged for fifteen years," he announced matter-of-factly. Placing it on the bar, he added, "While it might not be at the tip of the quality pyramid, it's pretty damn close."

"Fifteen years? A most splendiferous vintage!" White declared. "Drink up, amigos!"

As soon as Jack had given the two lawyers their drinks, they downed the contents as quickly as they could. Jack frowned as Parsons expressed his appreciation of the fine whiskey with a more ungainly belch.

"Sorry about that," he said weakly. "But, damn, that's some top-notch rations right there! I aught to have some more of that!"

_Looks like the Public Prosecutor wants to get a decent buzz right here and now... and I can't exactly deny service to someone with this much... brass. I'd better see if I can get some information out of him before he gets too far gone to answer... _Snapping himself out of his mental reverie, Jack carefully leaned one arm against the side of the bar counter. "So... Mr. Parsons, sir..." he began cautiously. "What do you think about all the things that have been happening with the Fey Murder Case?"

Parsons went stock-still; though this reaction was opposite to that of Washer it was still obvious that the man was shocked. "What... what... what do you mean by that question?" he asked haltingly.

Jack took a step back and looked down at his clasped hands in an effort to appear innocent. "I don't mean to offend or pry, Prosecutor Parsons, sir..." he said levelly. "It's just that Ms. Fey was a dear friend of mine, and I've been paying especially close attention to everything that's been happening in that case these past few days. The information has been changing so quickly... so I've been getting rather confused about it. I'm just hoping that your opinion will be able to answer a couple of my questions, that's all."

Unfortunately, Jack's emotional statements forced Parsons on the defensive. "Well, I... I," he glanced leftward; "I must ask exactly what... what... what _questions _are you speaking of?" he finally forced out.

_I'd better be careful on this... don't want to sound too suspicious._"Well... what do you think about the State's change in defendants? That move always struck me as rather... strange."

Though he remained stiff, Jack noticed that sweat was starting to form on the Public Prosecutor's head. "Well... about that... did you... did you read about that in the paper?"

Jack frowned, though he made sure to keep up innocent airs. "Well, I did read _one, _but the reason they were trumpeting didn't make much sense... they were saying that Ms. Fey did something that I _know_she never would have done. Isn't that... _odd,_Mr. Parsons, sir?"

Parsons' eyes bulged; it appeared that he know longer knew exactly what to say.

Surprisingly, it was not Jack or White but Washer that broke this latest silence. "J-Jack, please!" he stammered. "I know that your intentions are good; proper; moral, but don't you think you're being a bit hasty with your words?" His voice rose in pitch as he continued, "After all, there are some things that can't be revealed; divulged; ...d-disclosed to the public!"

Before Jack could even formulate a reply, White smacked a hand against the bar to get everyone's attention.

"A thousand apolitudes, my dear bartender, but it appears that Person and Washup's cranial complexities are only getting bigger, and a reductification in their stress-cells will be needed to query them relief."

Jack absently adjusted his collar. "And... exactly what does that _mean,_Mr. White?"

White's smile grew almost impossibly wide. "It's quite simplistic, bartender. These two people will require spirits and solidarity in order to regain their balance!" He paused and placed a hand against his heart; Jack turned away as light reflected off the jewels on his hand and into his face. "Thus, Mr. Bartender, I will be foraying into a great sacrifice by purchasing that spirit-bottle from you in its entirety." Turning to Parsons and Washer, he continued, "Then, you two, in order to instill some fresh air, will retire to my limozeloum, parked just in the lot just offsides from this bar, and let out your troubles in the form of solaceful, cooperative drinkery!" He paused, reached into the left side of his suit, and pulled out a pack of ordinary playing cards, which he sat before Washer with a flourish. "If you should find the televisor boring, you many finagle with these while you drink." He paused to flash one of his shiniest smiles. "Hell..." he muttered, "You can also partake in the use of the on-board computers, if it pleases you." He turned back to Jack and smiled. "Do you not agree with my logisticry, Mr. Bartender?"

Jack frowned, and his stomach gave a little gurgle. _I may be a bartender, but I don't like the idea of people just recklessly drinking themselves stupid for no good reason._ Knowing better than to flat-out deny White's offer, he turned to Washer and Parsons instead. "What do you think about Mr. White's idea?" he asked.

"I think it sounds on the up-and-up!" Parsons blurted quickly. Washer merely nodded his head in agreement.

"Uh... are you sure...?" muttered Jack, wiping his brow.

"On a footnote," White added, "It will give us a most centrific opportunity to speak mano a mano about varied things." He gave Jack a most significant look.

In a flash of realization, Jack realized that White had likely been hoping to speak to him 'mano a mano' all along.Ignoring the still louder gurgle of his stomach, he slowly nodded and muttered, "Very well."

White clapped his hands together; his smile stretched to almost impossible proportions. "Splendiferous! Now, if my poor fluxed friends would so kindly take their leave...," He fixed Washer and Parsons with a piercing glare.

"Of course, Mr. White, of course!" said Parsons, obviously thankful that he was getting away from Jack and his questions. "And thanks for the hooch! Come on, private." He grabbed the whiskey bottle, shot glasses, and playing cards before lifting Washer from his seat and steering him out the door at the other end of the room.

White chuckled as he listened to the chime and watched the door swing shut behind them. "Now then, Mr. Bartender, we can converse in relative privatude, can we not?"

"Yep," said Jack matter-of-factly. _I don't know where he's wants to say to me, _he thought to himself. _However, I do have an unsettling feeling that it's going to be something__** huge...**_

**To be continued... **

* * *

**A/N: **Yes, I'm totally going in this direction. Before you get upset, I assure you that the next two chapters (the rest of II-5) will not be a flawless copy of canon--my main character may emulate Phoenix Wright for a moment, but his time in the sun will be extremely brief. Now, a few things I should probably clarify: 

**Who is Chief (Neville) Specter?: **Mentioned both in the newspaper article and one of Jack's thoughts, Neville Specter is the pathetic Chief of Detectives from the Criminal Affairs Department--that guy in the CAD background that always seems to be playing solitaire or discovering two day old news instead of doing anything useful with his life. In fact, had it not been for the invention of the blue badger, I don't think this guy would have even done anything the slightest bit helpful to the department at **all, **and that's being generous. As of right now, he doesn't appear in the bar during the story, though I could have him come in for a bit part if it's really necessary.

**And Chief Wayside?: **Also mentioned in Jack's thoughts, Ambrose Wayside was Chief Prosecutor before Lana Skye obtained the position in February 2015. All you need to know about him is that he was a stickler for the rules, and that he was forced out of the Office shortly before Lana's promotion. Big whoop.

**What's Pinball Magic?: **'Pinball Magic' was a magic-themed (duh!) pinball machine made by Capcom in the early 1980s. I didn't invent it myself, and I merely included it in the bar as a homage to AA's mother company.

If there's anything else in there that you believe deserves clarification; feel free to bring it up and I'll do my best to explain. Chapter 11, (II-5-2), titled _The Man Behind the Curtain, _will hopefully be up within two weeks; as for description, let's just say that my ever-curious main character will engage Mr. White in what amounts to a series of warped cross-examinations. In doing so, however, he'll end up with more answers than he bargained for. Stay tuned...

-DSL


	11. Part 5, 2: The Man Behind the Curtain

**Note: **Phoenix Wright / Gyakuten Saiban, its settings, plot points, and characters, are all the property of Capcom, and are being used here without permission. This chapter takes place during the 'missing day' between GS1-2 Trial Days 1 and 2; Spoilers for that case and references to others, of that, I am certain.**  
**

**Episode II: A Toast to the Sisters**

_Part 5-2: The Man Behind the Curtain_

**September 8****th****, 2016, 7:23 PM**

"Now then," began White, his voice fairly serious, "Before we dispense with the conversations, might I suggest you vend me another Cosmopolitan? It would be most prudential to have one as we vocate with one another."

"All right," said Jack plainly. As he obtained the ingredients, he decided that there wasn't any point in prolonging the inevitable. "So, Mr. White... what is it that you want to talk to me about? I presume it has to do with what you and Mr. Washer were talking about yesterday..."

Somewhat predictably, White smiled and nodded. "That would be abso-posi-lutely correct, Mr. Bartender! Of course, such conclusives are not exactly difficult to drive to..."

"Right, right..." muttered Jack dismissively. "So... what exactly did Mr. Washer mention that made you decide to stop by?"

"Nothing in particulate," White declared, derisively shaking his head. "To be honest, what Wash-up told me was merely a tokenesque amount of information, enough to invigorate my senses and want to learn more."

"Okay..." said Jack absently. "So you came here... to learn more about me? Why?"

"To be quite plaintive, I found you to be a rather... interest-worthy person, do you not understand?"

"I guess," muttered Jack softly. In spite of himself, he smirked as he finished stirring White's Cosmopolitan. Gently sitting it down in front of the pompous man, he asked, "What do you want to know, Mr. White?"

As he gently sipped his drink, White's face took on an expression that was almost pensive. "To be blunt, I would like to learn anything that you are willing to impart upon my personage." Noticing that Jack was merely sending him a confused expression, he added, "Why don't you commence by conveying to me the story of your lifetime?"

_The story of my life? That's a quite a tall glass of information he's ordering, _Jack thought tersely. He mulled the request over for nearly half a minute before coming to a decision. _I'll just give him just a little of what he wants, and then see if I can get some information out of __**him**__ when I'm done._

"Well, Mr. Bartender? What reasons do you have for such a long pauselation?"

Jack sighed and shook his head. "Sorry... I was just thinking of where to begin, that's all." Taking a deep breath, he began by stating, "My life has been, for the most part, a rather simple one. I was born in December of '88, and I lived my childhood in a fairly decent section of District City... the Northwest Suburbs, to be precise. The days of my youth," he suppressed a chuckle as he used one of Mr. Grossberg's favorite phrases, "were rather pleasant; I had two decent parents and plenty of good friends. After I graduated from the local high school—that would have been in '07, mind you—I honestly had no idea what I wanted to do with myself. I eventually enrolled in one of the local colleges as a business major... but I didn't really like it, and my grades were hardly what you'd call the best. Thus, I dropped out, and I ended up working odd jobs in order to earn enough money to do something else with my life."

"That sounds most arduous, dear Bartender. Continue," muttered White, his arms crossed.

_For explicitly asking me to tell him this, he doesn't seem to be very interested. Strange... _Shaking his head, Jack continued, "I drifted from job to job for the next two years, not really making much of an impact anywhere. At the time, I was afraid I'd be living that way forever—but I got kind of lucky."

"Do continue," said White, his expression still oddly bored.

Adjusting his collar nervously, Jack continued, "When I was twenty-one, I... er, managed to get access to a rather decent amount of money. It wasn't a huge amount, mind you, but it was enough that I was able to stop working my butt off for a time. Not knowing what to do with myself, I bought a plane ticket and flew across the seas to Europe. When I first went there, I was only planning to vacation for maybe two or three weeks, but I was having so much fun living the good life that I ended up staying for more than a year overall."

"I see," said White, his voice still oddly detached. "What did you do on such a lengthful excursion?"

"Normal stuff," said Jack simply. "Saw the sights, went to clubs, stayed in hotels... you know, tourist stuff. I went everywhere: France, Britain, Germany, Italy, Spain, Bolognia, the Netherlands... it was what you'd call a total trip, to be honest."

"That sounds quite plausonable," muttered White. "And why did you return here?"

Jack awkwardly scratched at the back of his head. "To be quite honest, my funds were starting to get low. It's probably a good thing, too: by the end, I was really getting tired of the excessiveness of it all. So I moved back here and got a place in the city. Only problem was I still didn't know what to do with my life."

White merely sipped his drink, his face still pensive.

_Better get this finished with. _"So," continued Jack, wiping the sweat from his forehead, "I started combing the papers, and I read about a local school that offered bartending courses. I'd always been fascinated by all the whimsy and skill the bartenders in Europe possessed, so I thought, 'Why not?' It turns out I had a knack for the practice; it only took me a few months to ace my way through the courses. It wasn't very long after I got my serving license that my friend told me about the position here opening up. When I heard the specifics, I knew that the Golden Gavel was the place for me."

White lifted his head a bit. "Is that it?"

"Yep, that's it. I don't really have what you'd call a very interesting life, you know?"

Only now did White lift his head and smile. "That is only your opinion, Mr. Bartender."

"Really?" asked Jack. _What's he playing at?_

"That would be an affirmatory! And by that, I mean yes."

"And why do you think that?"

"The facts are quite simplistic. While you have given me a summation of your life that definitely isn't a suspect, you have failed to speak at length of the most prominent part: the time you've spent peddling alcohols in this drink-conservatory!"

_I don't like that eager look in his eyes, _Jack thought dully._ I'd better play dumb here. _"And exactly why would that be of any interest to you?" he asked, fixing his eyes upon his hands.

"Oh, come now," White said dismissively. "I and you both understand that this is a most specialistic establishment we are conversing within. This, much like the many drinkeries personages of my ilk can attend, is a place that possesses considerable exclusitivity. Am I not correct?"

Jack merely nodded and wondered where White was going with such flattery.

"Thus, having access to a legalistic clientele that no one else can proclaim, it's sensical to say that you've partaken in many... interesting conversations during your three year tenure."

"I guess you could say that..."

"But of course!" White's eyes were practically sparkling as he smoothly sipped at his cocktail. "Now then... continuing with such proper logistics, it only stands towards reason that you would have had access to some rather... how should I say... restrictive information? By which, of course, I mean things that are not released to the whimsy of the general public."

_Nope. I don't think I'm going to like this, _thought Jack, waiting for the flamboyant CEO to continue.

"After all, it is a rather common fact that drink-ushers tend to hear things that many persons do not hear. Of course," he added quietly, "I've also confirmated this fact a number of times from experience. Is that not a validity?"

Slowly, Jack nodded. "I guess I've heard some stuff over the years," he muttered, crossing his arms. "What of it, Mr. White?"

White paused to glance over his shoulder, as if checking for potential eavesdroppers. Satisfied by the bar's obvious emptiness, he turned back to Jack, laced his fingers together, and stated, "I have a proposal for you, Mr. Bartender."

"A... proposal?" Jack said slowly.

"Indeed, a proposal!" His voice low and confident, White explained, "My organization—Bluecorp, that is—has made an uncountable number of advancements in the field of information gathering ever since I initiated it back in twenty hundred and six. A large portion of our business model involves the things that you had partaken in mentioning a numeration of minutes ago: gathering the basic consumerist statistics of various personages and creating profiles that could be properly exported to various smaller conglomerates—for a weighty fee, of course. However, there is more to any business or personage than that which can be sighted by the eye, and Bluecorp is no exception."

"That's a nice bit of philosophy you've got there," Jack said blankly, "But what does that have to do with me or any 'proposal'?"

"Quietude! I am getting to that!" White allowed himself one more irrational glance around the room before continuing, "Bluecorp consists of two sectors: one for the gathering of public information, and one for the more, shall I say, subtlelicious sorts of facts and details."

A bead of sweat rolled down Jack's forehead. "Subtlelicious...?"

"A central part of my company... the heart, if I may replicate, involves the gathering of information for the sake of various investigations. Such operations are ineffably delicate... and thus, we strive not to bequest them as much attention as our more basic matters."

Jack frowned. "So... you're running some sort of detective agency, then?"

"But of course! After all, there are many esteemed personages in need of a bit of information. When I realized that this grand opportunity existed so many years ago, I had no choice but to throw myself into the proverbial ring." White paused and shifted his hands; again, the rings and jewels that adorned his body gleamed in reflected light. "And... as you can see, Mr. Bartender, I have succeeded most splendiferously thanks to these endeavors."

"I guess I can't deny that," said Jack, chuckling blandly. "You still haven't explained exactly what that has to do with any 'proposal', though..."

White merely laughed. "Must I make my words obvious to the point of ridiculosity? I would like to add your most humble personage to my core organization!"

_He's looking at me as if I've just won the lottery, _Jack thought sardonically. "So, uh... if I were to become a part of your most wonderful organization, what would I have to do?"

Now, White crossed his arms, a thoughtful expression working its way onto his face. "Your tasks would be quite simplistic, Mr. Bartender," he said bluntly. "I am well aware that you are quite proficient at conversing with your various patrons. It would be imperative that you continue to utilize that skill. Upon certain occasions, I would be able to schedule a meet with you so that I may inquire upon anything Bluecorp needs to know."

_Blab about my customers? I really don't like the sound of this._ Knowing better than to refute the flamboyant man in the middle of such a critical lecture, he merely nodded and asked, "Would that be all I need to do, Mr. White?"

White's ever-presentsmile faltered for an instant. "Well, it would be quite unproper of me to say that, wouldn't it? In all honesty, there would be occasions—very rare occasions, if I may add—in which I would task you with gaining data on a particular subject. It is to be expected, of course, that I would only do this for highly imperative clients, and thus, it should not be too ginormous a worry. Do you not understand me?"

_Loud and clear, Mr. White, loud and clear. _Jack absently glanced towards the bar's tiny window a moment in an attempt to gather his thoughts.

"Well, what of it, Mr. Bartender? I know this **is**an offer of a most auspicious magnitude, but your silence is quite irking..."

_I'll give you my answer, Mr. White, but you're not going to like it..._ Brushing some stray hair away from his face, Jack gave White a wary smile. "I'm quite sorry, Mr. White," he said coolly, "But I think I'm going to have to turn down your offer."

Somewhat predictably, White's eyes snapped to Jack's face and widened in surprise. "A thousand apolitudes, but what did you just say? I'm fairly ascertained that I did not hear you correctly."

"You heard me," said Jack, absently staring at the spot just over his customer's violet hair. "I'm politely declining your proposition to have me become a part of your... corporation." He made sure to add a light note of disdain on the final word.

For a brief moment, White's lips gave an ominous twitch, but he quickly returned to his normal smiling composition. "Well... if that is the case, may I be so bolded as to inquire why...?"

_It'd probably be best if I soften the blow here. _Shaking his head slightly, Jack stated, "It... isn't in me."

"'Isn't in you'? What kind of bluntesque statement is that?"

Jack allowed himself to again look directly at Mr. White's ever-smiling face. "I'm just not the type of person who likes to spy on people, that's all."

White frowned and crossed his arms in defiance. "I would hardly confuse the most influential information-gathering industry in the District with brutal spying, Mr. Bartender. It is a great insult that you would make such a quip at my corporation's expense."

Jack paused and glanced around the room; everything was as still and empty as ever. "I'm sorry, but I call things as I hear them. There's no way around it."

"But, I must digress-"

"Sorry, but there's no digressing here, Mr. White," Jack said, allowing his tone to become firm. "To me, it's not 'information gathering', it's spying. Just because you put some turkey gravy into a fancy snifter doesn't suddenly make it a fine brandy, after all."

Jack smirked as White finally let his mouth open in shock. "That is, without a doubt, one of the most questionable analogisms I have ever heard," he said slowly. As if suddenly realizing his break in composure, he rapidly shook his head and the grandiose smile returned to his face. "Perhaps you are not yet in complete comprehension of the benefits involved with joining my company's most valuable service. If you were to give me but a pimento of the information Bluecorp requires, I would find it well within my affluence to make sure you are justly rewarded for your hard work." He furthered his point by again allowing his jewelry to sparkle in Jack's face.

_Nice try, but it's not going to work. _Shaking his head, Jack asked, "Were you not listening when I told you my story, Mr. White? I grew tired of excessive living years ago, before I even took this job! Money may be a necessity in this world, but I don't really have any pressing _need_ for more than I earn now." He paused and scratched his chin in thought. "Besides, I just don't have it in me to keep tabs on my customers, many of whom are my friends." Jack paused again to take a deep breath; he didn't know exactly how someone as self-assured as Mr. White would take his next statement. "And... if I may speak more broadly, Mr. White,_ sir, _your so-called detective agency just doesn't sound like a very... clean way of doing business."

As Jack expected, White's eyes flashed with outrage, but aside from that his jovial expression remained unchanged. "That is nothing more than a flat statement from an even flatter man, Mr. Bartender." He paused and leaned forward slightly. "Asides, if I may express my own opinion... 'Cleanliness' is nothing more than a word for deluded simpletons. Business is all survival of the strongmen. If you are unwilling to get yourself a bit sloppy, your moralisms will take you nowhere."

"Well, I've made a pretty good name for myself here without any of that," Jack said plainly. "None of your little insults are going to make me change what I believe about the world around me."

As he downed the last of his second drink, White's face appeared fairly pensive. "Have I been insulting you, dear Bartender? For that, I must apologize," he said, bowing his head.

"Er, okay," muttered Jack, surprised that White was willing to apologize to _him _after_he'd _unkindly badmouthed White's precious Bluecorp corporation.

"Perhaps I have misunderestimated you," White continued, his tone still bizarrely contrite. "There is more than one way to peel a banana, after all."

Jack merely stared; once again, he had no idea exactly what his irksome customer was going to say next.

"You see, what you said just now reminded me of something myself and Mr. Wash-up had touched on when we were conversing one day before."

"Really? And that would be...?"

"Is it not obvious? Your aptitude, by which I mean your liking, of conspiratory theoretics!"

"Uh... you mean conspiracy theories?" asked Jack, sweating.

"That would be a correction!" White exclaimed exuberantly. "Though Wash-up only mentioned it a singular time during our telephone conversation, I managed to speak to him at length on the subject as we consummated our suppers later on."

Jack's stomach twitched slightly; he absently rubbed it to help relieve this discomfort. "So... exactly what part of my so-called 'liking' did you talk about for so long?"

White allowed himself a chuckle. "Again, the answer is fairly forward-straight, Mr. Bartender. We conversed at length about your deluded outlooks towards Ms. Mia Fey's murder case!"

Taken aback by the swift change of subjects, Jack jumped backwards in surprise. "How dare you say my 'outlooks' are deluded!" he snapped, his hands on his hips. "It doesn't matter what you and Washer were yapping about last night; it doesn't give you the right to jump to any conclusions!"

White shrugged and shook his head. "And that is where you leave the path to righteousness, dear bartender. After all, I possess an aptitude towards that trial that you, like most personages, simply do not."

"I don't follow..."

Again, White shrugged. "Come now. There exists a public link, albeit a small one, between myself and the before mentioned events. Given how, earlier, you claimed to be oh-so close to Ms. Mia; did you not put this thing on mental notice?"

"A... 'Thing'?" Jack pondered the question for half a second before being struck by the obvious. "Oh!" he snapped. "The new defendant, Mr. Wright, was on your company's property when he got arrested!"

White chuckled. "That is something I cannot deny, dear Bartender. Now, allow me to ask you something else. Why was the foolish attorney arrested at the offices of Bluecorp, of all places?"

_That's definitely an important question. I'm surprised he's bringing it up. _Thinking back to the newspaper Donny had given him, Jack replied, "Well, the_ Examiner _said he was 'taking his investigations too far' or something like that."

"Ah hah! So you have been paying attention to events after all! That will make things much more simplistic for you..."

"'Simplistic'? Why's that?"

"Allow me to ask you another question, then, Mr. Bartender. Why was it on my property that that man was charged for his crime?"

Jack frowned. "I'm not sure."

"I will tell you then. That foolish lawyer was incarcerated because he _was spotted by the critical witness."_

"'Critical witness...'?"

"But of course! The most critical personage who, having witnessed the most horrific actions of that murderous Mr. Lawyer a trio of days ago, was able to identify him last evening after a most fate-worthy collision of paths!"

Jack looked to the ceiling as his brows knitted in thought. _If that were really true, than why wasn't Mr. Wright arrested in the first place? _With a sigh, he asked, "And this person would be...?"

White let out a hearty laugh. "Come now, Mr. Bartender, there is no need to play dumb. I believe it is most apparent that I am speaking of none other than myself!"

Jack's stomach gave an ominous lurch as his mouth opened in shock. _I should have known... _Regaining his composure, he merely asked, "You?"

"That would be a correction! It is actually quite lucky that I managed to report him out! After all, otherwise, who knows what would have happened?"

As he nodded politely, Jack's mind was rapidly shifting into overdrive. _Okay, so he didn't bother to mention being the witness when I first brought up the case, and he let Washer and Parsons (who KNEW he was the witness) shake like leaves. And, if that weren't enough, how could a man who's got dozens of people searching for information 24-7 take two days to tell someone that the courts made a mistake in finding a killer? _Absently, he wrinkled his nose. _It's just as I'd suspected. There's something seriously rotten going on here._

"Are you all right, dear drink-usher? I know that this information must have formed quite an impaction on your already befuddled head, but there's no need to look ill over it!"

_I'm only appearing 'ill' because I'm NOT befuddled, you fool._ Making an effort not to appear weak or suspicious, Jack asked, "Why, exactly, are you... making this known to me, Mr. White?"

White shrugged. "I am attempting to offer you a service, Mr. Bartender. Over the length of my conversation, I have realized that you do not seem to consider me the most trustful of personages. I am hoping that by deflating your impressions of oddities in Miss Mia Fey's case, which is most obviously taking the majority part of your attention right now, I can prove that I am worthy of your respectitude, and thus have you reconsider your impressions of my most generous job offer."

Jack frowned. _I don't think there's any way I'd be willing to change my mind on _that_ issue. Thankfully, he doesn't need to know that. _Knowing this would be his only chance to get some real answers in regards to Mia's murder, he feigned politeness and nodded. "I can see your point, and thank you for this opportunity, Mr. White. Why don't you tell me what you can about what you saw, and then I'll see if everything checks out."

"Splendiferous! If you will make me but one more lovely Cosmopolitan, Mr. Bartender, I will commence."

Jack nodded and once again gathered together the ingredients; he only made the drink instinctively as he listened to its purchaser's words.

"Three nights ago, I was staying at the Gatewater Hotel with my secretariat, Ms. April May. At 9:00, I was quietly perusifying, or, in simpler terms, reading, some papers near the window. It was at that very moment that I heard a bedlam coming from outside! In my surprise, I turned to look at the building that was across the way. It was at that moment that I saw her: A long-haired woman, being attacked by a man with spiky hair! Obviously, that man was the new defendant, the foolish young attorney! Upon seeing such a horrific scene, I called Ms. May over post haste! She, of course, was horrified as well. The victim then ran off, to the left if I recall, but the man gave chase! In the end, there was a terrible impaction! Thus, it was all over..."

Jack made use of the time spent shaking White's vodka and triple sec concoction in order to process what he'd just heard. _Judging by how concise and rehearsed he sounded, that's probably what he's going to say in court tomorrow. But if my gut feelings are correct that __**can't**__ be the truth... I'm going to have to play lawyer and see if I can get him to say something that I __**know **__is wrong. Hopefully, I'll be able to figure out the realities of Mia's death from there._

Decanting White's drink into an empty martini glass, Jack asked, "So you and April May were sharing a room together? Why would you be doing that?"

Surprisingly, White let out a hearty laugh. "I may be a personage of great importance, but even I still feel the need to spend the day with a sweet young woman and 'get away from it all', so to speak." Waggling his eyebrows, he added, "It is most certain that our activities have no relatude to what I witnessed."

"Of course," muttered Jack, willing himself not to blush. _However, that raises a very important point. _Deftly waving a lemon-slice garnish in the air, he asked, "All innuendo aside, Mr. White, what about the fact that Ms. May was using a wiretapping device on Miss Fey's phone? That's hardly a typical activity two people do when they're trying to 'get away from it all.'"

White merely shrugged and shook his head. "I assure you, Mr. Bartender, I knew nothing of my secretariat's actions! That is a separate crime that has no bearing upon what I witnessed! Asides, it would be hardly possible for me to condone such underhanded methods!"

_You mean like trying to hire a bartender to become your informant? _Jack clenched his one hand and sighed; that particular "contradiction" wouldn't really get him anywhere at the moment. Frowning, he decided to press something else. "So... you definitely saw Mr. Wright murder Ms. Fey with your own two eyes?"

"That would be most correct!" White exclaimed. "It was, as I said, a horrific thing to behold, but my eyes do not tell lies."

_Of course they don't. Your mouth, on the other hand, is a different story. _"So, Mr. White, you said that Mr. Wright cornered Ms. Fey, and that's when she tried to run away?"

"Abso-posi-lutely, Mr. Bartender! That nasty Mr. Lawyer snuck up on his victim most insidiously. She ran off to the left, presumably towards the door, but she simply wasn't fast enough. Her death is a tale of much tradidgery, I must admit."

As he stared at Mr. White's (rather poor) attempt at looking disheartened, Jack let out a deep sigh. _I know there's got to be something way off about this guy... and yet, nothing he said sticks out enough for me to deny it. Thankfully, it's his actions that make him stand out, far more than his words._

"Believe me; I know all too well about how sad Ms. Fey's death is," Jack said seriously. "But, if I can be quite honest, it's not the actual murder itself I'm very interested in. Do you mind if I ask you some other questions instead?"

White looked thoughtful for a few seconds, and then exuberantly nodded. "What kind of personage would I possess were I not to let you gain what you seek?" he asked declaratively. "Of course, I can only ask but one thing in return..."

_Uh-oh._"And that would be...?"

"That you would give to me my most beloved drink, which you have been twirling in your hand for a quartet of minutes now."

_Oh, that. _Suppressing his embarrassment, he smiled and sat the Cosmopolitan before White in a single deft movement. "I apologize for my distraction, Mr. White. This case obviously preoccupies me."

"Think nothing of it, dear bartender. Now then, your questions...?"

_Let's start with the most obviously glaring thing on the list, then._ Placing a single hand against the bar, he asked, "What I want you to tell me is quite simple, Mr. White. Given the fact that you clearly saw Ms. Fey get killed by her underling, Mr. Wright, why did you let the blame fall on Maya Fey for _two days?" _Grimacing, he lifted the hand and let it fall back to the bar with a smack. "Surely a person as... knowledgeable as yourself would have been able to say something beforehand... if not immediately, then assuredly before the start of the trial."

White appeared fairly surprised at hearing such a question, but his countenance was, in this case, nigh-unbreakable. "You are passionate about things you do not completely understand, dear bartender. How should I iterate this...?" He paused. "Though I may look like an incorrigibly strong person, even I have rare instances of weakliness. Upon witnessing Ms. Mia's most horrible death... I became afraid. As soon as I was able, I departed for my home and secludilated myself there for quite a duration. In an effort to fortify myself I avoided the newspaper and television reports, and thus did not realize that Ms. Mia's dear sister had taken the fall. It was only upon returning to my offices last night that I ran into the true killer, and, despite my renewed horrifications, quickly informed some constables so that he received the arrest he deserved."

_I'm surprised; he doesn't really sound like he's lying through his teeth. There is, however, one thing I don't get..._

"Mr. White," Jack said bluntly.

"Yes?"

"I can see why even a... 'phantasmal' man such as yourself would be afraid upon witnessing a murder, but..."

"But what?"

Again, Jack placed a hand on the bar and leaned towards his customer. "But... why didn't the police question you for your side of the story? Not only was Maya Fey wrongly implicated by the judicial system, but your very presence as a witness was _hidden by the courts! _How could your entire involvement possibly be deleted like that?"

White looked shocked for the briefest of moments; he covered it up by taking a large sip of his drink. "Well, you see, Mr. Bartender," he muttered, crossing his arms.

"See what?"

"You see... it's like this," he muttered, his face still unusually dispassionate. "I left the hotel room rather quickly, and the police didn't really discern my presence until afterwards. They wanted me to... er, tell my story, but... I was, as I said, unconsolable at the time. Thus, they left me alone until I realized their error."

"No offense, but doesn't that sound kind of fishy, Mr. White? Surely, if the police department comes across a witness, they'll do everything to make sure he's at least thoroughly interrogated, if not officially prepared for the witness stand."

"Er, well-" White sipped at his drink again, "-to be quite simplistic, I am a personage of considerable importance, and thus, the police... respect my wishes." Sitting up straight, he added, "I assure you, they did do everything they could."

_Hmmm... I might not be a mind-reader, but I'm fairly sure you're stonewalling me. Time to try yet another angle._

"So, Mr. Bartender... Are you satisfied with our communiqué?"

"Almost," Jack said tonelessly. "There's just one more thing I need to understand..."

"Ask away, if you must..."

"How did Mr. Wright's actual arrest go? The papers didn't really explain much on that particular issue."

White raised an eyebrow. "Does that really have any signifitude? What matters is that Mr. Lawyer will pay for Ms. Mia's death."

Jack frowned and nodded. "I'm just trying to understand how things got to be the way they are, Mr. White. Once I understand that, I shouldn't have to cling to 'conspiracies' any longer."

"Oh, very well," muttered White, frowning. "The events of Mr. Lawyer's arrest are very simple. Having partially recupricated from the shock of seeing that horrific murder, I thought it best to return to my position as 'El Presidente' of my beloved company. Sadly, it seemed that a personage such as I simply could not garner a break! Shortly after entering my building, I came head to head with that man's horrendously spiked visage! Thankfully, he did not recognize me, and thus I immediately called for my building's security forces, as well as the local constables. That sneaky Mr. Lawyer tried to flee the scene, but he couldn't escape the long appendages of the law!" He sipped at his drink appreciatively. "It would be quite difficult for you to comprestand how relieved I was when that man took him down..."

Jack absently stared at the ceiling as he contemplated White's latest words. _I wish I'd heard more about Mia's death than what I read in that stupid little newspaper article, _he thought glumly. _Nothing really stands out as inaccurate or odd... except..._

"Mr. White," stated Jack, standing up straight and crossing his arms.

"Oh, what is it now, Mr. Bartender?"

"What do you mean by 'that man taking him down'? Are you talking about the police station or something?"

White spared a quick glance around the room before breaking into a hearty laugh. "Of course not, dear bartender! I am, in fact, speaking of when that bumbling detective took the man down the stairs and out of my sight! As I mentioned, it was a most indeniable relief."

Jack made a curious noise. _Did he just say what I think he just said? If so, I think I can trap him... _Steeling himself for verbal impact, Jack leaned forward and grabbed the bar counter with both hands. "Mr. White," he stated bluntly. "I hate to accuse, but what you just said sounded rather... off."

White wasn't the least bit phased. "Oh? How so?"

"You said that a 'detective' took Mr. Wright 'down the stairs'. Pardon me if I'm wrong, but I could have sworn that I read the arrest took place _outside the building. _If that's true, _exactly what stairs are you talking about?"_

White's mouth dropped open for a brief moment; he sipped his Cosmopolitan in lieu of saying any words. Only when he had finished taking a rather lengthy draught did he cross his arms and mutter, "There's no need to sound so... forceful, now, Mr. Bartender." Snapping back to his normal haughtiness, he added, "It's rather logistic that I'm referring to the stairs at the front of my building! Does that not quell your infernal nit-pickery?"

Jack shook his head; he was struggling to keep a smile from forming on his face. _Wow... I actually caught him in a lie. Let's see where he leads me once I rub it in his face. _Putting on his best neutral expression, he said, "Got you, Mr. White."

"I beg your pardons?"

"I said, 'Got you'." Tapping a finger to his temple, he continued, "I know you don't think I'm the smartest person around, and, most of the time, I'd honestly agree with you. However... you've finally 'misunderestimated' me one time too many!"

"Really? And why would you say that?"

Now, Jack did allow himself to smile as he reached under the bar and grabbed the newspaper he'd put there so long ago. Unfolding it with relish, he said, "You say you speak of the stairs in front of your building? I say you're wrong. After all-" he placed the paper before White so that he could see- "Isn't that the front of your building-" he tapped a finger against the photo of the obviously stair-free blue structure- **"Right there?"**

White's mouth now dropped open for more than a second; Jack felt an odd satisfaction as he watched a single bead of sweat roll down his forehead. "I am guessing that is correct," he muttered, placing both fists against the table. He shook his head several times, but only managed to partially regain his composure. "So, then... exactly what did you prove by pointing out my mind-absence?"

_Think things through, Jack. Better to overshoot the mark than fail to approach the target. _Staring towards the ceiling, Jack said, "Since there are no stairs anywhere _near _the front of your office building, it's obvious that the so-called capture of Mr. Wright didn't occur where this stupid paper said it did. Obviously, things must have taken place higher up in the building..." Jack paused and gave White's jewel-encrusted suit an appraising glance. "Perhaps in the top-story office that any decent company president would be expected to have?"

White's mouth again dropped open; apparently Jack's speculation had struck gold.

Before his customer could attempt to further defend himself, Jack smacked a palm against the bar and continued, "Plus, if you don't mind me repeating myself, you said that Mr. Wright was 'taken down' by a single 'detective'. This article, however, clearly says that he was 'arraigned by several police officers'! Clearly, both the location and nature of the arrest are _contradictions!"_

White was now visibly sweating. "So... might I re-state... what exactly did you prove?" Though his voice was still forceful, it was beginning to waver.

Jack frowned and crossed his arms. "It's fairly easy to see that, if the newspaper needed information on this arrest, it would look no further than you to give the order and circumstances in which things... went down. Judging by the way you're acting, the newspaper account is undoubtedly false, and thus... the source of the lies in this article... _was you!" _Smiling in triumph, Jack allowed himself to point a finger straight at White's pompous face.

Clearly nervous, White quickly looked around the room once more. Reassured that it still empty, he turned back to Jack... and laughed.

"Oho! That's... quite a tale you're spinificating right there. Surely, a so-called intelligent person such as you can faithfully discern the flawities in your argument!"

"Flawities...?"

"Yes, flawities! You are not in need of an ear exultation, are you, Mr. Bartender?" He paused to chuckle as he sipped some more light red liquid out of his martini glass. "Exalted personage though I may be, this here periodical would have to verificate, or make sure of, my words with background research, would it not?"

Jack thought about that, and frowned. _He does have a point there... _"I guess it would," he admitted out loud.

"Ha! So... if what you claim to be false actually was a falsity, it would have been unproven through the efforts of the people at the publishing company." He shook his head and laughed again; a huge smile consumed his face as he continued, "I don't have the meanifications to _force _them to see things my way without... awkward situations, after all. Do you not understand?"

Jack was about to mutter an agreement, but he clamped his mouth shut as he mentally absorbed the full impact of White's words. _He says he can't force people without 'awkward situations', eh...? But... everything that's been going on these past few days has been nothing__** but **__awkward!_

"Are you feeling all right?" White asked, perplexed. "Don't inform me that your head is becoming inflected too..."

Holding up a hand, Jack finally chimed, "Don't mind me. I just... realized... that I need to check something!" Without waiting for a response, Jack again reached underneath the bar and pulled out the list of oddities he'd written earlier that day.

"Would that be one of your drink-cost tabulations?" White asked, clearly confused.

"Yeah, sure," Jack quipped. Thoughts flashed through his mind as his eyes raked his way up and down the list. _My beloved customer just made a big mistake, saying that. That arrogant smile of his... it just makes me want to... _Jack's train of thought briefly stopped as he physically shuttered. _All right, all right... What do I already know about this man? _He allowed himself a brief glance at White's pink-suited visage. _He's a big shot; the head of a company that 'gathers information'. Judging by the way he asked me to start keeping tabs on my friends for financial gain, he definitely already has a lot of other informants that are doing just that. And that wiretap his secretary was using... somehow, I doubt that Mr. White was really unaware of his underlings using such methods. _Jack was starting to feel a bit hot under the collar; with his free hand he absently drew himself a glass of water from the sink faucet.

"Are you ascertained that you are not feeling ill?" snapped White, his tone still vaguely unsure.

Jack merely nodded before pressing the glass to his lips and taking a sip. Looking down at the list once more, he thought, _If Mr. White has a big company with plenty of cash resources, tons of people slipping him info for personal gain, and underlings that spy on people without anyone knowing the wiser... than he must have secret information on practically every important person in the city! And with all that knowledge of things people want to stay hidden, he can cause 'awkward' situations to happen at the snap of his fingers! _Trying not to visibly shake, he managed to detachedly focus on each of the individual items on his list.

_Maya's arrest... that might have been an honest mistake at first, what with all the evidence pointing at her, but the local news was unusually savage—if White can make them report lies, he can probably make them exaggerate the 'truth'. The evidence problems... Edgeworth was all frazzled over that call from Mr. Parsons... it's fairly obvious that White's got Parsons outflanked, now that I look at it; that might be why he scheduled that bizarre late night meeting, near the scene of the crime no less. Mr. Grossberg was practically hysterical when he talked about Mr. Wright taking Maya's case two nights ago... he refused to explain what horrible thing Wright had gotten himself into... but it looks like I know now._

"My, my, Mr. Bartender, you're getting more pale-like by the minute! Should I call in someone from the field of medicry?"

Jack wordlessly shook his head as he continued to sort out the list in his mind.

_BOTH of the weird phone calls I've heard these past two days we're from White, not just Washer's; Grossberg's crazy behavior pretty much confirms it. _Jack realized his heart was hammering like mad as he looked into Mr. White's face once again. _I've had so many questions... but it looks like all of the answers are pointing to one man. One man... and he's sitting right in front of me._

"Pardon my inquisitude, dear Bartender... but is there any reason you are placing your eyes upon me like that? It's quite... distending."

Jack took a big sip of water before averting his gaze. "My apologies, Mr. White," he said in a conspicuously friendly tone, "but I've merely been thinking about some... interesting things. I assure you, there's no need to be concerned."

"Ridiculosity! Unload your thoughts, and I will see if I can, with my wonderful mind, provide some assistitude."

_You asked for it... _Jack took a long drink of water before slowly nodding. After pausing a moment to swallow, he stated, "As I said when your two 'friends' were still sitting beside you, I've been watching the specifics of the Mia Fey murder trial _very_ carefully. What I haven't mentioned, however, is that not only have certain parts of the actual case struck me as off-key, but the actions of several _people _I know have recently been abnormal as well."

White's eyes flickered, but his face remained impassive. "And you are pontificating on this because...?"

"I am _elaborating _on this because... as these... observations have piled up, I've been constantly nagged by the impression that somewhere there was a link; a single hidden force that was somehow causing all of these... awkward situations."

White chuckled. "I and you both know that those are the conclusifications of a typical head-in-the-clouds conspiracy theorist, Mr. Bartender."

Jack shook his head in the negative and flashed an ironic smile of his own. "That too, had been what I tried to tell myself at first. After all, conspiracies are for cheap detective novels and tin-foil wearing recluses, are they not?" He held out a palm so that White wouldn't interrupt. "This time, however, I've become very convinced that the _conspiracy is real_."

"And what dare you mean by that?"

Again, Jack shook his head. "Now, now, Mr. White. There's no need to play dumb anymore. Ever since you've made the mistake of walking into my bar, you've been rather intent on showing me how important you are, what with the money and fame you've earned in the field of 'gathering information'."

White didn't look pleased. "If you insisted on slathering my title, I must demand an explanation-"

"-And you will get one," Jack snapped. His voice trembling with conviction, he continued, "Considering your actions earlier this evening, the most obvious of which being your 'proposal' for me to spy on my customers, many of whom are _my friends, _I think it's logical to assume that you have already used a lot of... less-than-legal methods in order to get information before. A lot of this information must be very secret... things people don't want others to know. So, if you tell people that you have the ability to let their secrets slip, it's fairly easy to conclude that they'll be willing to do _anything_ to keep you happy and follow your orders... no matter how many 'awkward situations' will arise." Jack realized he was starting to sweat; he grabbed his glass of water and raised it to his lips with a slightly shaky motion of the arm. "So... mere bartender though I may be, I can put two and two together. The conspiracy is real, Mr. White... and the conspiracy is **you."**He placed his hands against his hips and braced for impact but...

...It never came; White merely shrugged and laughed again. Jack held back a snarl of rage—was there no perturbing this man?

"That's a cute little pronouncement you have there, Mr. Bartender. It is, however, most certainly lacking one thing."

"Oh? And what is that?" Jack snapped.

"You claim that it is my personage behind your delusions, Mr. Bartender. That I am forcing everyone to say what I wish for them to say?" When Jack nodded, he continued, "That's all well and good, but you haven't addressed is this: For what reasons would I, your so-called conspiracy, do what you claim I have done?"

"W-what do you mean?" stammered Jack, now utterly confused.

"You outwardly point that I am the force behind all your observations, Mr. Bartender. If what you think is, in actuality, realistic, why would I make things happen in the 'odd' ways they've happened? For what purpose would this affluence garner me gain?"

Jack made a low, thoughtful noise. _If I relax and think things through, I should be able to figure it out. _Absently, he scratched at the back of his head. _Aside from Mr. White, there were __**three **__people that either saw or came across the crime scene. Maya Fey, who was arrested first; April May, a witness convicted on charges of wiretapping; and Phoenix Wright, who is now accused of the murder, thanks to this man. If the 'conspiracy' truly is real, White first managed to force media pressure on Maya Fey in order to vilify her in the eyes of the public. He made sure that no decent attorney would defend her in the hopes that she'd get a quick guilty verdict._

"Your eyebrows are exercising most ferociously, dear Bartender. Are you finally developing the head-pains that I mentioned before?"

Jack merely shook his head in annoyance; White had interrupted his train of thought. _However, Maya Fey __**didn't**__ get a quick guilty verdict. Somehow, Mr. Wright managed to both prolong the trial and figure out that there was another witness to the crime. While investigating, he went over to Bluecorp... and White had him arrested. So... what would he gain from this action? He would get the lawyer off his trail, and have him blamed for Mia's death. _Jack sipped his water and started rubbing a hand against his chin. _As a matter of fact, it seems that Mia's murder is being pawned off to anyone that could've possibly committed it. Maya Fey, Phoenix Wright... he's been trying to make others pay for the crime of killing Mia. And if they didn't kill her, and that April May woman didn't kill her (after all, Wright hadn't found __**her **__out), then that means Mr. White's the only person that could have... _As if felled by a gunshot, Jack's mind reeled as the answer became obvious.

"Dear God, Mr. Bartender! Now you are turning a most unsightable shade of vermillion! Whatever could be your illness now?"

Now that he'd pieced the key truth together in his head, Jack was beyond mincing words. "I'm not the sick one here, _White._" he spat. "You are."

White merely countered with one of his ridiculous shrugs. "Why, exactly what implitude do you mean by that?"

"Oh, come on!" Jack shouted. "Did you think I wouldn't be able to figure things out? What you're 'garnering' by being the master of manipulation is obvious: Your own ill-gotten freedom!"

Again, a shrug. "And for what reasons would my freedoms be, as you so brutalestically claim, gotten ill-ly?

Jack un-tucked his shirt and starting wringing the end of it in his hands; the nerve of this man to keep playing dumb! Lowering his voice to a hiss, Jack continued, "Given all the facts, even a _child_can see why your freedom's ill-gotten! _**You**__ are the man that killed Mia Fey! _And now... you're using all the information you've gotten from your 'detective agency' to make someone else take the fall!"

As could be expected, the arrogant smile quickly vanished from White's face. The expression that replaced it, however, was not one of anger or shock; if anything it appeared that the man was only mildly displeased. Looking down at his glass, he muttered, "So... you are now most suddenesquely implying that I killed Miss Mia?" He stared at the rings on his fingers and heaved a dramatic sigh. "Very well. For what reasons do you believe that to be the so-called truth of which you seek?"

His vision going foggy with anger, Jack let out a bitter laugh. "It's. The. Only. Way." he spat, biting off each word with a singular effort. "You're the only person who hasn't gotten any blame for any crime, be it murder or espionage. You have enough power to influence the Public Prosecutor, the defense attorneys, and the people in the media... pretty much anyone with an important job and a secret to hide." He paused to wipe one shaking hand across his brow; every point he was making was helping him figure out something else. "And, since _almost everyone _in those fields have things to hide, the only people you couldn't control are those you haven't investigated yet... like Mr. Wright, who only had one decent case under his belt before this came along... and those who have an unusual degree of moral fiber... people like Ms. Fey, or, as you've been calling her, 'Ms. Mia'. Odd that you'd use her first name, Mr. White... It's almost as if you'd been... acquainted with her somehow." After this last statement, Jack sucked a breath in through his teeth and shot White a poisonous smirk.

In spite of Jack's angry accusations, White still seemed oddly detached. "Your ramblifications are quite... forceful, Mr. Bartender. However, it can easily be ascertained that you have no evidential proof."

Jack merely let out another laugh, as hearty and strangely pitched as that of a TV-movie madman. "Of course there's no 'evidential proof'!" he exclaimed, fixing White with a wide eyed stare. "You've made sure of that ever since you did the deed!"

White's frown grew deeper; he raised an eyebrow that clearly meant, 'Explain!'

Jack's stomach was starting to hurt, but he had no choice but to continue. "On the first day, all the evidence pointed to Maya Fey. You must have known she was heading for the crime-scene when you did the deed... after all; you managed to use Mia's... Mia's _blood _on that bit of paper and wrote down Maya's name, didn't you?"

For the first time since Jack's accusation, White actually looked faintly surprised; it took him a moment to remember that details on the blood-inked note hadn't been released to the general public.

"Yes, I know about that piece of evidence," he admitted, his voice soft and full of venom. "I guess you're right about my having access to secret information after all." He let out another bitter laugh. "So... had things gone to plan, Maya Fey would've been found guilty and your name never would have come up, right? Mr. Wright, however, managed to wrangle it out of the court somehow. He was on to you, wasn't he, Mr. White? He wouldn't have gone to your office had he not been."

White continued to give Jack an apathetic frown.

"So... you had a dilemma. You had to get rid of Mr. Wright somehow, so he wouldn't get to say anything when court reconvened... today. So, you changed your plan. In order to cover your ass... you shifted the blame for Ms. Fey's death to the one man that was capable of revealing the truth. Thanks to your so-called 'power', the so called big-shot Public Prosecutor couldn't even try to stop you. Of course, this meant that Maya Fey had to be cleared of all charges, but so what? She was obviously just a scapegoat of convenience, after all. And thus, you managed to hide the fact that_ you_ killed Ms. Fey." Here, Jack paused and let out a dull chuckle. "That is, before you fouled it all up by coming here and making a 'proposal' to buy off my soul." Triumphantly, Jack placed his hands against his hips and shot White a savage smile.

As his accuser finally fell silent, White looked up to the ceiling, raised a ringed hand from the bar counter... and let it rest across the bottom of his face as he let out an elaborately bored-looking yawn. "That was a most lovely story, Mr. Bartender," he muttered languidly. "But... now that it is finished, I must ask..." He trailed off.

"What must you ask?" Jack inquired bitterly.

"I must ask you... what now?"

"'What now...?'" Jack scratched his head in bemusement.

The arrogant smile returned to White's face as he shook his head and shrugged. "You have labeled me the killer of Ms. Mia; have you not, dear Bartender? I am humbly inquiring as to your actions upon coming to such a gasticious conclusion."

Though White seemed to be making a big deal of this question, Jack thought the answer rather obvious. "What do you think I'm going to do? I'm going to call up Office Security... get every guard and police officer down here post-haste! You may have the esteemed Mr. Parsons in your pocket, but two or three dozen officials throwing your ass into a holding cell should give the State enough time to force the truth out." As he smiled and went to use the bar phone, he thought,_It might be hard to get security to put this man in detention, but if I can get enough of them behind me I should have some 'power' of my own. I'll have to try and contact Maya Fey, and hopefully Mr. Grossberg... once White gets detained they should be able to help get him locked away. _Cursing the weakness of the System for everything he was going to have to do, Jack lifted the phone off its cradle, dialed the proper number, put it against his ear...

...And pulled it away in shock as he was subjected to one of the most unearthly-sounding shrieks he'd ever heard; it sounded as though an electric banshee had taken possession of his telephone receiver. His right ear ringing in pain, he slammed the receiver back in its cradle in a single swift motion.

Swearing under his breath, Jack furtively rubbed at his ear for several seconds before the ringing died away. Only then did his brain finally register the sound of soft, arrogant laughter. Clenching a fist in frustration, he wheeled around.

As he'd expected, the laughter was coming from Mr. White; his oversized chest heaved up and down as he reveled in Jack's discomfort.

_You horrible man... _Jack absently reached for the bottom of his shirt and started wringing it again in frustration as he waited for White to stop.

Melodramatically wiping a tear from his eye, White shook his head and flashed a grin—a grin more sinister than any he'd possessed before. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Bartender..." he said, his voice dripping with mock remorse, "But I'm afraid that such flambiverous actions can not be allowed to occur. I wouldn't want you dragging the title of my personage in the mud, now wouldn't I?"

As White's eyes gleamed, yet another conclusion fell into place within Jack's mind. "You knew that was going to happen, didn't you?"

White merely laughed again; a laugh more disturbing than any of the many others he'd exhibited all night. "But of course!" His eyes sparkling in sync with the jewels on his suit, he reached into an inside coat pocket and extracted what appeared to be a small black cube with a tiny antenna. Smirking, he sat it on the counter with unadulterated relish.

"Such a splendiferous device this is... You see, it nullificates all frequencies in ascertained ranges... or, to be more specific, ranges used by talkie-walkies and phones both cordless and cellular. It's rather weakly... it shouldn't block anything outside this drink-house... but I believe that its strength will be all that is desired."

_An anti-phone device? No wonder he's not worried about speaking so freely... _Knowing that there would be no way to get the word out as long as that machine continued to function, Jack took a step forward, made a grab for it...

...and was instantly rebuffed as White smacked his arm away in a single surprisingly fluid motion. His face contorted into another freakish grin as he returned the cube to the recesses of his lurid pink suit.

"Now, now, Mr. Bartender, there's no need to get grabacious here! If you make another attempt to damage my machineries or do harm to my personage, I assure you that the results will be most unpleasant." Almost absently, he spun and glanced at the darkened rectangle that was the barroom window. "I had been hoping to have my limouseum driver take me and my compadres to our homes by this time, dear bartender, but it appears that that is not to be. After all, we are not done with our conversions." Spinning back towards Jack, he stopped for a moment as his eyes lazily raked the length of the space behind the bar counter. "So... why don't you just drag that horrific-looking chair over here and have yourself a seat? It will take me but a few more minutes to explain what will happen to you if you continue to peddle your lies."

As the smile on White's face grew to hideously large proportions, Jack finally began to realize that he'd gotten himself into a situation that was _well _over his head.

**To be continued...  
**

* * *

**A/N: **I must admit, this is probably the closest thing to a courtroom trial I'll ever create for this oddball fic. If I recall, I wrote this little... er, gem in May, about six months before this update. Oddly enough, when I first came up with the Gavel concept, this confrontation, with Jack finding out the truth of 1-2 by dragging it directly out of Redd White was one of the first plot points I settled upon, and it was quite an obsessive month and half when I actually wrote it (The last chapter, this chapter, and the next chapter) in its entirety. 

Why did I decide to do things this way? Well, I figured that there was a whole day of nothing in between the two trials that make up GS1-2, and that that would free up White to float into my outside-canon realm. I figured that since I've (somewhat selfishly) made my main character very knowledgeable about the goings on of people in the legal system in general, it would make sense for White to want to tap that highly rich source of information. As I alluded to in this chapter, the former bartender, Harold Busman, had been forced into such a position in the past, and, while it may seem odd that I'd only have White drop in now and not years before these events ever occurred, there is a reason (perhaps one I'll never get to explain, since I probably won't reach GS3) why White gave the bar a few years to "cool off".

I must admit, its somewhat sad that I write so slowly, at my current rate, it'd probably take a decade for me to parallel the entire PW trilogy in the obsessively detailed style I'm used to. I am, however, committed to at least try and create a decent narrative out of GS1. I believe that's it for all the major questions that abound, except maybe one...

**Europe's a nice place, but I've never heard of Bologina...:** That's because, in our world, it doesn't exist. However, this fictional European country is essential to the plot of GS4 (Specifically GS4-3) and thus I included it in Jack's vacation spots. Though I may never make it past GS1 as far as weaving a coherent narrative is concerned, one of my bigger goals is to create a GS world that integrates all the Ace Attorney games, 1, 2, 3, 4, and beyond (depending on how long I write this).

In Chapter 12 (II-5-3), _Turnabout for the Worse_, I use my overbearing OC to solve a relatively simple question: What happens when Redd White is challenged by someone lacking the insane luck of Mr. Phoenix Wright? (I can't have Jack break into the canon story and save the day, after all.) Stay tuned, for it's going to be a bumpy ride...

-DSL


	12. Ep II Part 5, 3: Turnabout for the Worse

**Note: **Phoenix Wright / Gyakuten Saiban, its settings, plot points, and characters, are all the property of Capcom, and are being used here without permission. This chapter takes place during the 'missing day' between GS1-2 Trial Days 1 and 2; Spoilers for that case and references to others, most definitely.

I'd also like to extend a thank you to Kitai Matsuru, who has agreed to beta this fic alongside of EvilMarshmallow13. Huzzah!

**Episode II: A Toast to the Sisters**

_Part 5-3: Turnabout for the Worse_

**September 8****th****, 2016, 8:37 PM**

Having no idea exactly what to do next, Jack gritted his teeth and pulled his chair back to White, making little effort to keep the chair legs from scraping against the polished wood floor. Unable to think of a decent way to circumvent his customer now that he'd revealed his 'weapon', he merely threw himself onto the seat and insolently crossed his arms.

Upon witnessing this gesture, White merely laughed and smiled. "Judging by your impossachievable effort to light my head on fire with your eyes, I presume you will not be stewarding me another drink."

Jack merely growled in response.

"I see." White glanced over his shoulder for a moment before reaching back into his inside coat pocket. "Thankfully for me," he muttered, "my personage is vaulted enough to have other methods with which to relax." The sinister grin back on his face, he slowly extracted one of the longest cigars Jack had ever seen. He repetitively twirled it around the ringed fingers of one hand while he produced a jewel-encrusted lighter with the other.

Jack managed to stopped grinding his teeth long enough to hiss, "I don't like smoking in my bar."

White's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Really? I don't care." Chuckling, he fluidly bit off the end of the cigar, placed it in his mouth, and set it alight. His eyes gleaming, he then inhaled gratuitously, leaned forward and blew smoke directly into Jack's face.

"Damn you..." was all Jack managed to get out before his head gave an almighty throb and he started coughing unrestrainedly.

"Now, now, dear Bartender, there's no need to extol that sort of horrific language at me!" Again he puffed on the cigar, though he did not aim the smoke at Jack this time. "Were you not so pre-justified against smoking, you would soon find out that a cigar can be just as flavorous and variated as any decent bar-drink." Another puff. "You can only get a torpyramid this long from Central America or that Europe place you went to... Baloney, I think it is? B**a**loney cigars are particularly rare, and I've heard they actually make your life lengthier... but this Caribbean is splendiferously spicy, so I really do not mind its unhealthitude."

Jack let out a hissing breath through his teeth; he had better things to do than listen to this... _murderer _talk about cigar flavors.

"Now, now, Mr. Bartender," White responded dryly, "There's no purpose in hounding me; I'll re-animate the point soon enough." He paused and appreciatively gazed at the cigar smoke swirling above his head. "Now... as I had spoken earlier... I must line out what will happen to you if you foolishly commence to usher lies alongside your drinks."

Jack sat up straight with a start. "But I'm not telling lies, Mr. White. You killed Ms. Fey... that is the truth."

"Quietude! I find it quite... irregular that you would continue to stick with that claim." He paused and gave his cigar a little puff. "As far as the courthouses are concerned, your impressions are nothing more than a conspiratory theorem. With an assurance to rest, Mr. Lawyer will pay for his crimes, and no-one can possichivily stop that from happening!"

Seizing an opportunity to argue a point, Jack retorted, "Are you sure about that, Mr. White? You might have the defense attorneys and that esteemed Mr. Parsons under your control, but they aren't _everyone._None of their flimflamming matters as long as the Judge has a good head on his shoulders."

White removed the cigar from his mouth and smiled; once again, it was a grin of the creepy variety. "The Mysteriously-Magical Judge? He is as big a fool as can be. Besides, he has his secrets like any other typical personage... I can tell you things about his family that'll make your hairs do end-stands!"

_Does that mean the Judge is under his power, too? God damn it, if that's the case, then it'll be almost impossible for the truth to get out! Unless... _Taking a deep breath through his mouth to gather himself without getting dizzy from the smoke, he said, "Well, even if the Judge has problems... what about Prosecutor Edgeworth? He might not be an angel when it comes to ethics, but I know he's got it in him not to deal with your... crap."

White's smile grew larger; somehow, his teeth managed to sparkle in spite of the big dirty cigar interposed between them. "You mean Miles?" he asked incredulously. "That man has so many secrets I wouldn't know where to commence in telling them! Of course, the beauty about that particular personage is that I don't even need to hang any threats over his worriful little head in order to make him act as I please!"

Absently, Jack realized he was starting to sweat. "What do you mean by that?"

"It's quite simplistic, Mr. Bartender. So simplistic, in fact, that you should be able to comprestand it even without my explanations!" White shrugged as he gave the cigar another charismatic puff. "But, if you must have things spelt out for you..." He shook his head. "My direct affluence is not needed to persuade that prosecutor fellow, as he is already under the pressure of two other things."

"...Two things?" asked Jack, his voice oddly small.

"That would be an affirmitory!" Holding up the pointer finger of his left hand, he continued, "First, there is the fact that this particular prosecutor has a perfectionist record! Of course, such merits are to be expected... he was raised by a man with similar convections, after all!"

_Manfred von Karma, _Jack thought resignedly. _How many times has he bragged about how he's prepared Edgeworth to carry on his perfect legacy?_

"Thus, it would be impossachievable for Mr. Prosecutor to find Mr. Lawyer anything but 'Guilty' for the crimes he so obviously committed!" Before Jack could speak, he held his left hand up again, this time with two fingers extended. "And, going further, there is another thing that guarantees that this man will make sure every stop is pulled to keep lies away from the court!"

Jack frowned. "And that would be...?"

"That would be his unyieldable respect for higher authorities! As long as from above the orders do come, Miles will make sure that they are carried out!" Here, White allowed himself a particularly sinister laugh. "Before you digress on this point, Mr. Bartender, allow me to show you some proof on the futility of your... resistance." Relaxed, he reached into a pants pocket and withdrew a dark green cellular phone.

"And that would be...?"

"This particular phone belongs to Mr. Person," White explained lazily. "I possesified enough forward-sight to borrow it from him in case it was needed."

Surprised, Jack absently looked at White's suit coat. "But what about...?"

"I need it not to transcend a call," explained White, stuffing his cigar into his mouth and manipulating Peter Parsons' cell phone with surprising ease. "I merely wish for you to take a brief listen to this conversion... and then you'll comprestand just how hopeless Mr. Lawyer's case truly will be!" His teeth still somehow gleaming in the bar-light, he deftly poked a final button.

**BEEP!**

_"Hello?"_Jack felt a rush of déjà vu as he heard Miles Edgeworth's voice come out of yet another cell phone speaker.

_"Mr. Edgeworth? This is Parsons." _For once, Parsons' tone matched the militancy of his attire; he'd obviously made this call during a time of extreme confidence.

_"Of course it is," _Edgeworth said crisply. _"How could I not recognize the voice of the Region's public prosecutor?"_Even without an accompanying image, Jack could hear the smile in his voice.

_"Silence! I don't have time your dilly-dallying, sold... er, prosecutor! Do you understand me?" _Jack winced; this was the first time he'd heard Parsons in such a mood.

_"O-of course, Mr. Parsons. Why do you wish to speak with me?"_

_"We're having a slight change of plans in that Mia Fey murder case you've been working on."_

_"Really?"_Edgeworth asked incredulously. _"I'm sorry that I failed to end the trial immediately as we hoped, but-"_

_"But nothing, Edgeworth! It's a damn good thing you didn't get everything sorted out, or else things would be FUBAR right about now!_

Several seconds of silence, and then: _"FUBAR? What do you mean by that?"_

Parsons let out a brash-sounding laugh. _"Well, FUBAR is an abbreviation that stands for-"_

_"No, no, I know what FUBAR means! I'm asking you why you're happy that I failed in my endeavor!" _In spite of Parsons' relatively angry mood, it was obvious that Edgeworth was getting upset.

_"It's quite simple, Edgeworth! Maya Fey's not the defendant anymore!"_

More silence. _"Did... did I hear you correctly?"_

_"You sure as hell did! We've finally got a link from our hidden source, and he's set us up with the real goods!"_

_"You mean that..."_

_"Yes, White's agreed to testify, and he's found us the real killer!"_

Still more silence. _"And that would be...?"_

_"The defense lawyer, Phoenix Wright! Who else could it possibly have been, Mr. Edgeworth?!"_

Another silence, longer than any that came before. _"You are sure of this, Mr. Parsons?"_

_"Sure as shit, Edgeworth! ...Oops, sorry about that." _Phone-Parsons took a calming breath, and then: _"Now then, there's one thing I've got to make plain to you, so listen up!"_

_"I'm listening..."_

_"Whatever Mr. White testifies to tomorrow... it will be the __**absolute truth. **__Do you understand that?" _Parsons' voice left no room for disapproval.

_"I... I believe so," _Edgeworth stammered. _"Of course, the defense attorney will still be trying to pick apart that truth in a search for so-called lies..."_

For the first time in the conversation, Parsons let out a nervous chuckle. _"Don't you worry about that, son. The defense situation is already being taken care of."_

_He's got that right, _Jack thought grimly.

Phone-Edgeworth, however, was not yet convinced. _"There is still the matter of the judge, Mr. Parsons. He will also make sure that Mr. White's testimony receives due examination."_

Another nervous chuckle. _"That's been taken care of too, Mr. Edgeworth. I assure you, if you raise an objection, the judge will listen to you loud and clear."_

_"...I see. Is that it?"_

_"For now. The updated information and your duties should come in a matter of hours."_

_"Very well," _muttered phone-Edgeworth resignedly.

_"Oh, and Mr. Edgeworth...?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"Do make sure you get Mr. Wright the guilty verdict."_

_"You know as well as I do that no other option exists for me, Prosecutor Parsons."_

Phone-Parsons chuckled. _"Of course, Mr. Edgeworth. Dismissed!"_

**BEEP!**

_"Call recorded, September 8__th__, 5:43 P.M." _The drone of the mechanical voice resonated into silence as Jack wearily returned his gaze to White's hated visage.

"Do you understand now, Mr. Bartender?" White asked haughtily. He paused to flick his cigar; a considerable pile of ash was slowly growing atop Jack's formerly clean bar counter. "The judges, the lawyers, the prosecutors... to me they are mere toys. Instruments of amusement! There is no way that Mr. Lawyer could possachievably avoid his fate."

_So that's it, _thought Jack despairingly. _He's got every last person under his thumb; not one person who knows the truth will be able to do anything in court tomorrow. Looks like there's only one way to deal with this after all. _His mind again made up, Jack stood from his chair and crossed his arms in a show of resolution.

"Is there something wrong, dear bartender? Have you finally decided to cease with your most foolrific crusade?"

Jack shook his head. "Hell no."

"Excuse me?"

_This whole conversation has been a battle of wits. If there's any hope for the truth at all, I have to regain the initiative. _With a small sigh, Jack said, "Your control over things is impressive, Mr. White, but the truth remains unchanged. If you get what you want tomorrow, I will have no choice but to fight for what I believe in."

White smacked a hand against the bar counter; Jack coughed as a great cloud of used cigar ash flew towards his face. "Your words are harsh! What you tell me here in this drink-house, dear bartender, is irrelevant. The courts decide the penalties, so once the gavel goes 'bang bang', Mr. Lawyer's fate will be sealed!" He took another puff of his now half-consumed cigar with sophisticated relish.

Jack took a hissing breath and shook his head once more. "Given how much fun you've been having 'playing' with the legal system this past decade, you should know that even an open-and-shut case stays on the books for _two years_before it's closed for good. That'll be plenty of time to get the word out to people that matter..." Jack paused and examined the fingernails on his slightly shaking hands. "After all, I have a lot of 'connections' too, you know."

White stared at Jack for several seconds before breaking into a fit of haughty laughter. "Oh, you provide me with such entertainment, Mr. Bartender!" he declared, waving his lit cigar around like a poisonous magic wand. "Surely you must realize that, as a drink-pusher, your 'friends' will hardly be able to take your legal advice without tonnages of doubt."

Jack frowned. "Perhaps. But, unlike all of your 'puppets', you don't really have any way to stop me. I'm an eccentric 'flat-man'; a guy with no legal power to speak of, after all. You don't have any 'handle' with which to control my behavior!"

"You have no power? That is a correction," White muttered seriously. "However... when you say that I possessify nothing with which to control your actions... that is where your tongue runs past your brain!"

"Where my tongue... huh?" Jack's eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"You have your weaknesses, Mr. Bartender. Every single person I've ever had the honor of dealing with has their weaknesses... except for Ms. Mia, of course." He paused; a thoughtful expression fell upon his face. "No... nullificate that... Ms. Mia did not have a weakness of moralisms, but she most definitely did have a weakness of the cranial structure..." He flashed a most wicked of smiles.

Taken by surprise, Jack gripped the edge of the bar counter in an effort not to launch himself at his horrible customer. His voice deathly low, he ground out, "You... son of a-"

"Yes, my mother was quite the repulsive matron," White interrupted smoothly. "Of course, she wasn't quite so barbarous once I threatened to tell my father of her relations with the local post-man..." White paused and shook his head. "But that is irrelevant, dear bartender. What I wish to impart upon you is this: you are currently in possessification of a very large weakness—one sufficient enough to ensure you that you shall remain silent."

_He can't be serious, _Jack thought absently. "So, Mr. White... what is my so-called weakness?"

White paused for just an instant before letting out a great burst of laughter. "You don't have to look hard to find your weakness, Mr. Bartender," he proclaimed. "It's all around us!"

Jack looked wildly around the room for a short while before he started to get an inkling of what White was talking about. "What, you don't mean-"

"Yes. I'm talking about your _bar,_foolish barkeeper. You know... the one that makes up half your title; the one we've been conversing within for a number of hours now?" He paused to visibly sneer. "The tavern that, being a place of exclusitivity, is completely not known to the generalistic public?" When Jack remained silent, he continued, "Yes, I believe you now comprestand what I am getting at." He puffed his cigar appreciatively. "Your one big mistake this entire night, dear bartender, is misunderestimating just how far my affluence extends. If you dare to both refuse my corporation and work directly against my most humble personage, I will disclose the existence of this drink-house in such a vengeful matter that not only will you be vanquished from this building; you will also, through the use of self-absorbing media, be made into a figuration both well-known and well-despised by the public-at-large. Have fun trying to accrue a new job for yourself after that, Mr. Bartender!"

_Damn it, he's got a point, _Jack thought. _This place has always been rather secretive... hell, some of the people that work here don't know it exists! _He paused to look out the now darkened square of the frosted bar window. _And I'm sure that Mr. White can do everything he's mentioned so far... he's got a grip on at least the local media, after all. But to let this... asshole get away with Mia's murder? I couldn't live with myself if I did._

"So... what will it be, Mr. Bartender?" White chuckled at his use of a question that bartenders had been asking for decades.

Jack sighed as he absently wondered how much further this horrible man could be pushed. "I'm sorry, Mr. White," he said softly. "Though I love this job more than almost anything in the world, I will not keep it if it means burying the truth. I may not be a lawyer, but I choose the side of justice."

Like he had an uncountable number of times before, White puffed at his cigar and laughed. "Such moralisms, dear bartender! They almost bring a tear to my eye..." He mimed the act of wiping a tear from his face with a perverted glee. "But, I must digress."

_Ugh... there's no way to stop this man from smiling for more than a minute, _Jack thought despairingly. _What's he got up his sleeve now?_

"Your intentions, while oh so... nobleist... do not lift water, I'm afraid."

"How so?"

"Once again, it's quite simplistic. Your oh-so-incredible will to jettison your job under the pressure of my conglomerate only makes sense if you were looking out solely for yourself. But, with an assurance to rest, if you try to defy me, your personage will not be the only one... taking the fall."

Jack's stomach started to throb; he forced himself to dutifully ignore it. "...Excuse me?"

"After all, my dear bartender, you claim to possessify many friends within the walls of this most lovely building... some of them have been close to you for a lengthier time than others. Now then, you wouldn't want to see any negative attention placed upon their personages, would you?"

_I have a bad feeling about this one... I guess it'd be best to devalue his threat before he gets a full head of steam. _After taking in a breath of acrid smoke-filled air, he stated, "I hate to make assumptions, but I'm fairly sure you're talking about my friend Donny Docket?" When White merely flicked his cigar in response, he continued, "I don't want to speak for others, either, but I know Donny's no fool. If the truth costs me my job, I doubt he'll want to work here anyway." He allowed his face to twitch into a smirk.

White gave his now mostly-consumed cigar one more thoughtful puff before looking Jack in the eye... and flashing him a grin more hideously triumphant than any he'd given before. "Your securiguard friend?" he sneered. "I could care less about _him._A personage in that position does not have much to lose, after all. I am, to be quite truthful, speaking of your _other _old friend, the fall of which would be quite a different novel altogether." He finished with a sinister smirk of his own.

Jack frowned for around half a second before he realized just what White was insinuating. Wincing at the intensifying pains in his stomach, he muttered, "Wait... you don't mean...?"

White added to the ash pile on the bar counter with an air of extreme relish. "Come now, dear bartender, there's no need to chop words with me! Though I may not be the best when it comes to remembrating the titles of non-famous personages, I can clearly recall the conversions I shared with Wash-up last night. And, though he mentioned a large numeration of things about your personage overall, I most specifically recall him stating that you possessified not one, but _two _old friends that work in this building: that securiguard you just mentioned... and the Public Prosecutor, Ms. Lana Skye!"

White's obvious mangling of Lana's title went unnoticed as a myriad of thoughts flashed through Jack's embattled mind. In the end, however, his brain settled on one simple word: _Crap._

White chuckled at Jack's obvious discomfort. "Were you so deluded as to presume I would not be bringing that upward? I am an expert when it comes to collecting information, after all."

Jack sighed. _I guess I should have seen that coming, even though I haven't really considered Lana a friend for quite a while... ever since she started working in this place. _Jack frowned and looked upward; his eyes followed the many curls of smoke floating in the air as he organized his thoughts. _Perhaps I can bluff him still... _Snapped out of his reverie by White's obnoxiously loud cough, he looked the horrid man in the face and muttered, "If Mr. Washer over there was... loose enough to tell you I used to be friends with the Chief Prosecutor, I'm sure he also mentioned that we haven't so much as spoken to one another in well over a year. What makes you think that I should care if you add her name to your target list?"

White merely stared at Jack for a few seconds before bursting into a tremendously annoying series of wheezing giggles. Dusting the pink fabric of his suit in an offhanded manner, he stated, "Now, now, dear bartender, let's not be coy. It should be most apparent that your constant use of moralisms in opposing my corporation and the desires of my personage should be quite evidentiary enough, shouldn't they?"

Jack merely gave White a condescending look that meant, 'You tell me.'

"No? Well, in that case, I guess I shall be forced to rely on some realistic evidence of my own, hmmm?" In lieu of explaining himself further, White reached into an inside coat pocket (_The one opposite the jamming device, _Jack noted) and pulled out a somewhat thick packet of papers, which he nonchalantly dropped onto the counter area directly before him.

Jack nervously ran his hands through the hair at the back of his head. "...And that would be?"

"This would be a stack of papers... papers that retain excerptations from one of those forever-prolific online blogs. Most specifically, it details the mundane squabblings of a personage that uses the un-mature title of 'DonnyJuan-69'." Wincing at the horrid screen-name, he continued, "This information is relatively old-dated, but my secretariats did a good job at finding them in the recesses of the Internets. A cursory examination of the details within confirms that it was authored by your foolish securiguard friend."

Jack took in a breath of noxious air as a bead of sweat rolled down his face. _Donny never told me he had a blog... Did he not want me knowing what he had to say...?_

"Though it seems that my underlings had a difficult time pushing their way through all of the youthly whinings, strange abbreviations and horrific grammar-how any personage can violate the English language with such effort-free mannerisms travels beyond me-it gives me quite a story of your early days-the secondary school days of you and both of your compadres, in fact."

"I... see," Jack muttered weakly.

"The parts I've taken explain only the things of highest signifitude: How you met Ms. Lana—some drivel about a classhouse trial; not surprising—and about all the altercations you went through in the subsequent years... were I a weaker man, I might actually find myself moved at some of the more pository points of such touching stories..." He shrugged and shook his head; the now tiny stub of his once-large cigar was making smoke trails as if it were a patriotic sparkler. "But, as I was just stating, the purposes of such papers are quite simplistic: Considering that you, Ms. Lana, and your securiguard friend have ties that are so rooted-deeply, I find it quite difficult to think that you would no longer care for her in the slightest... your current moralisms only add to the tangible proof."

Jack let out a soft groan. _He must have always been planning to drag up all these threats had I merely rejected his spy-offer... my finding out he's a no-good murdering bastard only makes him far more willing to be as hurtful with them as possible._

"Furthermore," White continued, oblivious to Jack's deliberations, "It easily comes to my attention that your dear friend Ms. Lana had, even during the mindless days of secondary school, possessed a most intensified desire to become a prosecuting attorney later in life. You and I both know that she finally acceded to this ambition just over three halves of a year ago."

_That's right, _Jack thought sadly. _That was when her entire personality changed... she started avoiding me after that._

"So, dear bartender, it comes to this: If you are to continue to oppose me by peddling your lies—and that's what the world will perceive them as, _lies_—you will quickly find that, aside from your own personage, most of the blame in regards to your suddenly exposed drink-house will fall upon she who leads this building: Ms. Lana herself! With fools like Mr. Person upon my side, it will be most simplistic to have her disbarred and thrown from the building as well. So, dear Bartender... do you truly wish to oppose me, and live with the knowledge that you one-handedly destroyed your beloved old friend's greatest dream?" White's face twisted into a hideous grin.

Jack merely stared at the floor as he rubbed at his intensely aching stomach. _He's finally got a hold on me... I guess I should have expected him to press the right button sooner or later. Still, I can't let him know just how successful his latest attack was. _Wondering just what he could do next, his eyes fell upon the packet of papers sitting on the counter before him. _Maybe if I can figure out just how much information is missing, I'll be able to wrangle a way out of this mess..._ His mind made up, he leaned against the bar and made a one-handed grab for the packet with a quick, "Here, let me see that..."

But as soon as Jack touched the papers, White again seized his wrist and held it down with an extraordinarily strong grip. Before Jack could even consciously attempt to free himself, White shot him a smile, plucked the short stub of his cigar out of his mouth with his free hand, and ground the lighted end into the back of Jack's palm.

Jack stared at White for a single horrified instant before the pain from his hand slammed into his mind with all the subtlety of a ten-megaton bomb.

**"Gaaaaaaaaaaah!"**he yelled, wrenching his hand from White's grip and blearily staring at his attacker in animalistic shock.

White merely smiled. "Is there a problem, dear bartender?"

Obviously, Jack no longer possessed any capacity for acting nice. _"Of course there's a problem, you bloodsucking bastard! You just burned my goddamn hand!" _he snarled.

After a quick glance over his shoulder, White merely laughed as he watched Jack run the angry red wound under the water of the barroom sink. "Oh, did I?" he asked mock-innocently. "What will you do about it, Mr. Bartender? Have me arrested for assault? You will not be able to do it, just as you will not be able to lift a finger against me after my day in court tomorrow! Even in this case, it would be your word against mine, and compared to me, any squabbles you produce will be dismissed as trifilitic!"

His face pinched in pain, Jack merely turned and gave White the hardest stare he could muster; it was tempered by his efforts to wipe tears of pain out of his eyes with his uninjured left hand.

White merely examined the jewel sewn onto his lurid pink suit as his lips curled into another sadistic grin. "I had warned you that any sudden moves towards my personage would be met with swift rebuttal. I had hoped that you wouldn't dare test my reflexives again. Shaking his head, he shrugged and returned his gaze to Jack's face. "Asides, that tiny little mark I gave you will serve you well... for now you have learned the cost of opposing me in its entirety. After I destroy that pathetic Mr. Wrong's impertinent effortudes to defend himself in the court-house tomorrow, I and my corporation will be making sure to keep an eye on you for any... indesirable behaviors. Heck, it appears that I might be able to get you to take up my proposal after all... After all, were you to move but one hand against me... I would personally see to it that the lives of you, your securiguard friend, and Public Prosecutor Lana are burninated into cinders." As he returned his papers to their place inside his coat, he threw back his head and let off a riotous burst of laughter that pegged him for the criminal mastermind he was.

Although he was somewhat distracted by the now competing pains in his hand and his stomach, Jack managed to listen to White's bragging rant closely enough to discern one more new fact. "Did you just say Mr. Wright's going to be defending _himself _in court tomorrow?" he asked neutrally.

"But of course, dear Bartender! I have not an idea why he would do something so foolish... especially with Mr. Wash-up _so_wanting to offer his services."

_If that's truly the case, I might be able to get off one last parting blow. _Setting his teeth in a pained grimace, Jack growled, "Perhaps you're not as invincible as you think, _White._" When White merely raised an eyebrow in amusement, he continued, "Like I said once before, Mr. Wright's obviously on to you. If he's smart enough to reject _every_ offer of council and only rely on his own self, then he can say what he wants without anyone there to betray him! As long as he can do that, he can force out the truth!"

White shrugged and flashed an impish grin. "Don't make me laugh, Mr. Bartender! Mr. Wrong... force your 'truth' out from me? That man is a newbie, barely freed from law school! He has a lesser chance of causing injury to my personage than a woolly-capped tramp has of winning the lotto-drawings! To be most honest, such accusations are patheterifically weak!"

"I wouldn't be too sure!" Jack snapped, his voice ringing with heavy confidence. "He might have only won one big case, but if Mr. Wright learned anything from his boss, he'll be able to force it out of you!" He flashed White a pained grimace. "After all, Ms. Fey was an infinitely better person then you ever will be."

White actually appeared shocked for a brief moment before he regained his eternal smile. "Ms. Mia?" he asked, his voice dripping with haughtiness. "Ms. Mia was an _idiot _for even _thinking _that she could bring my personage downward. And... if you really think of Mr. Wrong with such highness..." He paused for a few seconds and scratched at his chin thoughtfully before snapping his fingers in sudden enlightenment. "I believe that I will be able to prove to you just how power-free that man truly is."

"How?" asked Jack, confused.

"It's quite simplistic, dear bartender. I will, of course, utilize my affluence just to dismiss the thought that anyone can even attempt to oppose my most splendiferous personage!" Another pause for thought, and then: "After the trial starts tomorrow at 10 AM, keep a very close eye on the televisor network that calls itself DNN... you know, the Dense Nitwit Network? When all hope is gone, I will make Mr. Wrong's weakness public to all the world, just for you." In a quieter voice, he mulled, "That will keep those network people in line as well... some fools in the press are making attempts to defeat me that are even more foolish than yours in their ridiculosity. They too will learn tomorrow, or else..." Noticing Jack's mildly hopeful expression, White trailed off. After making an elaborate show of staring at a nonexistent wristwatch, he clapped his hands together and declared, "Well, will you notate the hour, Mr. Bartender! It appears that I must finally vacate this horrific drink-house, lest I not be in my most abso-posi-lutly perfect condition for the trial tomorrow!

_It's about Goddamn time, _Jack thought wearily.

"Now then, I have had quite a decent time conversing with you tonight, so I'm going to reward you with quite the tippage before I retire!" Laughing, he pulled a large stack of hundred-dollar banknotes out of his pants pocket and pushed five of them in Jack's direction.

_A monetary bribe as well? How disgustingly trite. _A pained frown on his face, Jack used his uninjured hand to push the bills back across the counter. "You can keep this, Mr. White," he said simply. "I don't accept blood money."

White merely stared at Jack for one more moment before fluently taking the banknotes back. "Still with the moralisms, dear Bartender? You humor me. I will not stop you from bequeathing yourself with a good foot-shooting, if that is your desire. Farewell!"

With one more flash of his jewels, White finally left the bar counter and strode to the exit, whistling a merry tune all the while. Jack let out a sigh of relief as he walked out, but he quickly turned around and caught the metal door before it could completely close. Irritably, Jack made eye-contact.

"Oh, might I remind you, if you ever regenerate the urge to defy me again, simplistically look at that beloved mark on your hand and rememberate this night. After all, as I've already said unnumerable times... If you were to fail to comprestand the situation that you, by your own foolish moralisms, have gotten yourself involved in..." He paused for a moment, and then: "You will find your worlddestroyed so thoroughistically that you'll wish that I'd merely impacted you with a clock instead." After a final burst of laughter over the stricken expression on Jack's face, he declared, "I will see you again, dear Bartender!" finally allowing the door to fall shut.

_He's finally gone, _Jack thought wearily. For a brief moment he considered running over to the phone and making an attempt to have White arrested anyway, but it didn't take much thought after the verbal (and physical) beating he received to realize that it would be a hopeless endeavor.

Of course, thinking of his injury only intensified the harsh pain on the back of his right hand; he looked at the perfectly round, blood red burn mark with an expression of utmost loathing.

_Bastard injures my hand and gets away with it, _he thought spitefully._ Wonder if he managed to do the same to Mr. Wright when they had their__unreported meeting..._

Wincing, he again ran his hand underneath the cold water of the bar sink; he'd have to get some sort of bandage on it before it got infected.

"Of course, with my luck, the damn thing's probably going to get a big-ass blister... that bastard ground it into my skin for so damn long," he muttered aloud.

As he thought again of the man who'd occupied the barstool behind him for the past few hours, he gritted his teeth in malice.

_I never could have guessed that I'd learn so much when that man first walked into the room. Of course, I also never could have guessed that I'd learn who Mia's killer was and not be able to do much about it._

_Certainly,_ Jack mused, _I can __**still**__ try to oppose White if he gets away with Mia's murder, but... It looks like the only reason he confessed was because he knew exactly how to discourage me from speaking up._ Sighing again, he removed his hand from the water and started blotting it dry with a clean dishtowel.

_Threatening to ruin my life was bad enough. Threatening to ruin Donny's life was even worse. And threatening to ruin Lana's life... _Jack let out the largest sigh he could muster at the thought of the Chief Prosecutor. _He knew that me, Donny and her had been friends since secondary school. He knew of her dreams and ambitions, and gleefully pointed them out as he added her to his hostage list._ Almost absently, he turned from the sink and grabbed one of White's dirty cocktail glasses off of the bar counter.

"It doesn't even matter that she hasn't even _been_ here since the February before last..." he mused, not really caring that he was speaking out loud once more. "After all, she damn well _told _me we couldn't be friends after she got the job running this place. White knew that my 'moralisms' wouldn't allow me to sacrifice her out of spite." Noticing he still had a glass in his hand, he roughly sat it in the sink and went to grab another one.

"So, where am I at? I know the answer to every last thing I've been wondering since Mia died... I know who her killer is... I know that Mr. Wright _isn't _the killer... I know that I can't speak up without having my friends' lives ground into dust... and I know that, unless Mr. Wright manages to pull off a miracle defense in his _own goddamn trial _tomorrow, Murdering Mr. White's going to come back in here and use the leverage he's gained to make me his filthy spy-slave... which is exactly what he wanted all along."

Unconsciously, he thought of White's sneering face... of Mia Fey's death... and all the lives that White was messing with, and would continue to mess with, no matter how much of the truth he personally knew. He thought and thought, until...

**"Damn it all!" **In a fit of rage, Jack took White's used glass and hurled into the sink with as much force as he could muster.

**KSSSSH!** The force of the thrown glass striking the glass already in the sink was enough to break both of them into several dozen pieces. Ignoring the mess he created, Jack turned from the sink, sat down in his chair, and threw his head into his hands in a fit of despair.

All that remained in his mind was a single unanswerable question: _What the hell am I going to do now?_

* * *

**A/N: **Well, if that isn't angst, I don't know what is. I'll admit it's somewhat tedious for me to be creating suspension based on something we know is going to turn out okay, but I believe the next part will set things off in a manner that isn't too disappointing. 

This marks the end of the three-chapter saga that was White's trip to the bar; after a non-corporeal appearance in the next chapter, I'll be able to stop torturing my spell-checking device for quite a while. There are two chapters to go in this massive Case 2 parallel; after that I'll have the next part of Episode X (I haven't forgotten that, you know) and at least two-thirds of Episode III. Considering that it took me a year and a half to get to that point, I can only hope that my ever-increasing studies won't stereotypically stop me from carrying this story along.

As stated earlier, the high school friendships between Lana, Jack and Donny serves as an analogue to the schoolboy friendships of Edgeworth, Phoenix, and Larry; this will be expanded on both before and during the Gavel-story of Case 5. I've got to end this game-parallel on a high note, after all.

The next chapter, in which the conclusion to the 1-2 trial is revealed to Jack (and a single customer who shall remain nameless) in a somewhat unusual matter, will hopefully be put up faster than this one was; it will be a little bit longer as well. Until then, readers...

-DSL


	13. Ep II Part 6: First Blood

**Note: **Phoenix Wright / Gyakuten Saiban, its settings, plot points, and characters, are all the property of Capcom, and are being used here without permission. This chapter takes place during the end of GS1-2 Trial Day 2; Spoilers for that case and references to others. Additionally, several hundred words in this chapter were taken directly from the original Ace Attorney game; these are also being used without permission.

** Episode II: A Toast to the Sisters**

_Part 6: First Blood_

**September 9****th****, 2016, 12:48 PM**

Jack sighed as he slowly poured cola into an ice-laden glass. _I guess I should take heart that not everything has completely changed,_ he thought morosely.

"You almost finished there, Jack? I'm all hot and thirsty!" Donny Docket mock-whined before bursting into a rather disturbing fit of giggles.

"Almost there, Don," Jack muttered, shaking his head. _Add some cherry syrup, and hopefully he'll shut his mouth._

"You know, Jack," Donny stated, "I was actually kind of surprised to find the place open this early today. I mean, not that I'm complaining, but normally I find myself banging my head against a locked door if I try coming here before two!"

Jack frowned. "Well, let's just say today's a special day and leave it at that." Almost absently, he grabbed his trusty bottle of cheery syrup and squeezed it into Donny's cola. He held the drink up to eye level and inspected it for a moment before giving it a quick stir and declaring it done.

"Since you're 'very thirsty', I guess it wouldn't be best to keep you waiting any longer, now would it?" Jack asked.

Donny huffed and banged a fist against the bar counter. "No, it damn well wouldn't!"

"That was a rhetorical question, dummy." Jack allowed himself another dramatic shake of the head before gently placing the glass in front of his best friend. "Here you are, Don. One finely made-"

"**Hey!** What the hell'd you do to yourself, Jack?!" Donny interrupted, pointing at the large piece of gauze on the back of Jack's right hand.

Flinching, Jack took a step backwards. "This thing?" He frowned as he looked at his crudely bandaged injury. "It's a long story, Don. I'll tell you about it later, okay?"

Donny blinked rapidly in surprise; he obviously hadn't been expecting such a reaction. Eyebrows contorting in thought, he said, "I've got some time left. Why can't you just tell me now?"

"Because I said I'll tell you later," Jack said tersely.

"But-"

**"No buts!" **Jack absently wiped his forehead with his good hand; he _really_didn't want to fly off the handle, no matter how bad his week had been going. "Sorry, Don," he stated simply. "Let's just let the matter drop, all right?" Before his friend could respond, he reached for his remote and increased the volume on the TV; at the moment, DNN was broadcasting a commercial advertising oversized chocolate bars. Avoiding Donny's direct gaze, he pulled his chair over and wearily sat down.

Donny ignored the TV and a made an appreciative noise. "Damn, Jack," he stated. "You look exhausted. Is that why you're acting all upset?"

Turning his head, Jack frowned and nodded. "I had a rough night last night, Don," he said neutrally. "I didn't really get a lot of sleep, either."

Surprisingly, Donny let out a chuckle. "Well, well, well..." he said appraisingly. "I might have struck out at the District Hideaway, but it looks like you had a better night than you're letting on! I know that I told you to relax... did you close the bar early last night and go hunting for some chicks?" He chuckled and waggled his eyebrows. "Well, Jack? Is that what happened?"

Jack let in a hissing breath; he hadn't been expecting his friend to jump to such an ironically positive conclusion. Turning his head back to the TV, he stated, "I assure you, Don... what happened last night was **nothing** like that."

Donny let out a noise of surprise. "What's gotten into you, Jack? Ever since you started making my drink, you've been acting all funny!"

Jack let out another resigned sigh; he didn't want to give Donny any information on White's visit before the trial was over... one way or another. His eyes still fixed on the television, he dully stated, "I've told you everything you need to hear, Don. I had a tough night last night and not much sleep before this morning. How I hurt my hand... there's simply too much for me to explain how that happened right now. Just enjoy your drink and watch TV with me, okay?"

Predictably, Donny didn't do what he was told. "Before I do that, can I ask you one more thing?"

Jack decided it was pointless to resist his friend in this particular endeavor. "Go ahead, Don. But make it quick."

Donny allowed himself a thoughtful sip of his drink before blurting, "Do you still have that list of weird crap you drew up yesterday?"

"Yes..." muttered Jack, unsure of where this was going.

"If that's so... I think you should add yourself to it, then."

Jack gave his friend the briefest of surprised stares before frowning and turning his attention back to the TV. He watched the news reporters chatter in relative silence for about a minute before he was interrupted by the familiar sound of the door chime. Sighing, he turned his head and watched as High Prosecutor Manfred von Karma, clad in an inordinately fancy blue suit and tightly gripping a sleek metal cane, slowly made his way across the barroom floor.

Once he'd finally made it to the bar counter, Donny stuck out his right hand in greeting. "Hey, Mr. VK! How's it going?!" he said jubilantly.

Von Karma took one look at Donny's eager expression and turned away from him in disgust. "I have no need for vigorous handshakes from _you_, lowly security guard," he said, his voice a disturbingly low growl. "It would be pointless."

Donny chuckled awkwardly before turning back to his drink. "Whatever you say, VK."

Von Karma merely made a dismissive noise before turning his attention to Jack. "You! Bartender!" he barked.

Normally, Jack would have been intimidated by such an authoritative tone, but after dealing with a genuine, honest-to-God _murderer, _von Karma wasn't really all too scary. "What would you like, Mr. von Karma?" he asked patiently.

"You will not speak to me with that insolent tone, Bartender!" von Karma barked. "First of all, I want you out of that chair. Such laziness is most unbecoming for a man of your profession." After Jack rose to his feet and moved the chair aside, he continued, "And second, you should already be well aware of what I would, as you so tritely put it, _like._"

"Of course, Mr. von Karma. You want me to make you one martini... and you want me to make it perfectly."

Von Karma slowly nodded. "That would be correct, Bartender! Start making my drink. Now!" He snapped his fingers commandingly.

In spite of his mood, Jack lips curled into a small smile. _Nothing like an order from von Karma to keep my mind off of things. Now, to get the ingredients..._

Jack softly hummed to himself as he gathered what few tools of the trade he would need; out of all the mixed drinks a customer could order from him, a martini was actually one of the simplest.

_A bottle of fine gin... some dry vermouth... a bottle of olives—_Jack deftly plucked the ingredients from their spots on his series of back-bar shelves—_and a cocktail shaker, of course... _Jack quickly reached into a cabinet and pulled out one of his finest cocktail shakers; he didn't want to displease the High Prosecutor by using something too 'ordinary'.

As he fumbled for some ice to add to the shaker, Donny made another attempt at starting a conversation. "So... Mr. VK," he said tentatively, "What do you think about the Fey murder trial? That case has been so crazy; it's causing almost everyone I know to act_ weird!" _He paused for a moment before quipping, "Isn't that right, Jack?"

Jack winced and immediately regretted the motion; it nearly caused him to spill the bottle of gin he was pouring. He quietly finished the job before opening a drawer and grabbing an overlong eyedropper... the trickiest part was yet to come.

"Hey! Aren't you going to answer me?" Though he didn't turn to look, it was obvious to Jack that Donny was getting impatient.

Before he could respond, however, von Karma countered with a question of his own. "Pardon the interruption, security guard, but I must ask... why the hell are you in here and not on duty?"

Donny made a surprised noise and paused for a few seconds. "Well... its m-my lunch hour!" he finally stammered. "Of course... it's only forty-five minutes long... doesn't that just suck, VK?"

Jack avoided chuckling with some difficulty at the sound of his friend's immaturity; he couldn't let himself get too distracted from the drops of vermouth he was releasing into the cocktail shaker. Only after counting out ten drops did he allow himself a sigh of relief.

"It appears that I have another question for you, _security guard_," growled von Karma. "Exactly how much time is left until your lunch break is_ over?_"

"Well," Donny began, "I believe it's over in about... three minutes!"

"I should have known," von Karma muttered despondently. "If your lunch break is that close to completion, I ask again: _Why the hell are you still here, you inefficient buffoon?!" _In a matter of seconds, von Karma's voice jumped from a low growl to an outright snarl of rage.

"Uh, well, you see VK, it's... I've got to go!" Clearly intimidated, Donny leapt to his feet. "Money for the cola's on the table," he added lamely. "Hope your head's on straight the next time I see you, Jack." With that, he scurried his way across the room, briefly sounding the door chime as he fled.

Now, Jack finally did allow himself a laugh; he was currently stirring von Karma's martini in its shaker and could afford such unnecessary motion.

"I hope you aren't taking your sweet time, bartender," von Karma stated, "I will not be pleased if I have to wait much longer!"

Jack merely shook his head at his customer's impatience. "It's all right; I'm almost done," he said simply. He hummed to himself again as he opened his refrigerator and removed an empty martini glass; he always had one stored in there for just this occasion. He took a deep breath before adding the strainer to the top of his shaker and carefully pouring the drink in the glass.

_And now... the finishing touches. _With a bit of effort, Jack popped the lid off of the olive jar, plucked one with his fingers, and skewered it with a toothpick before gently placing it in the drink.

Jack allowed himself another small smile as he carefully picked up the drink and sat it before von Karma with a mild flourish. "One dry martini, made with the proper amount of gin, exactly ten drops of vermouth, served in a chilled glass, garnished with a single olive, and stirred, not shaken like that foolish British spy. Will that be all?"

Von Karma made an elaborate show of examining his drink before nodding. "It is... adequate," he sniffed. "You may stand down, bartender."

Jack let out a small sigh of relief as he grabbed his chair and returned it to the spot directly across from von Karma. Not wishing to actually _watch _the TV at the moment, he decided that some small talk would be adequate for breaking the silence.

"Mr. von Karma?"

Von Karma stared at Jack with a peeved expression. "Yes?"

"Uh... It was really funny how you made Donny run out of the room." Absently, he stood up and grabbed the single banknote that his friend had left on the table. "I'm not used to seeing him get nervous like that... usually he'll keep talking and talking even when you want him to stop. Know what I mean?"

Von Karma frowned. "I might have an idea."

"Of course," muttered Jack, scratching at the back of his head. "Then again, what you said earlier brings up a decent question."

Von Karma crossed his arms. "And that would be...?"

"You asked Donny why he wasn't on duty. While it was a very effective thing to say, it makes me wonder... why aren't _you_ on duty, Mr. von Karma?"

Von Karma stared at Jack for just a moment before allowing his lips to part into a small smile. "It's very simple, Bartender," he said softly. "I was only scheduled to argue one trial today. Why they only gave me only one, I do not know, for I ended it in a matter of twenty-five minutes." He paused to sip his drink. "With a victory, of course," he added needlessly.

Jack nodded. "So, that means..."

"Are you that obtuse, bartender? In a matter of half an hour, my case load was finished. I came here to finalize it, and I will soon be going home. As it's the end of the week, I desired a drink before departing. It should be obvious to you that I was-" he sniffed the air disdainfully-"_lucky _to find that you had opened this bar at this hour."

"I see. That makes sense." Frowning, Jack wondered what else he could say on the subject. Several seconds later, he blurted, "Then again, Mr. von Karma, that doesn't seem quite like your style."

Von Karma merely raised an eyebrow.

"I mean... you're the type of person that likes to keep on top of things all the time, aren't you? I didn't have you pegged as a guy who'd spend half the workday sitting around at home." Jack let out an awkward chuckle.

Sighing heavily, von Karma said, "If I must spell out foolish details in order to shut you up, so be it. Upon arriving at my home, I will be spending several hours reviewing the details of this week's major court cases on my computer. Additionally, I wish to speak with my youngest daughter... international telephone calls are cumbersome, but this is a difficulty I am willing to withstand." Upon finishing, he gave his martini another careful sip.

Jack allowed a small smile to cross his face. "Ah, yes... exactly what has Franziska been up to these days? It's been a while since I heard you... mention..."

The remainder of the sentence died in Jack's throat as the familiar trumpet blast of the breaking news fanfare blared from the television hanging above the side of the bar. Without another word, he turned towards the TV, hoping against hope that White's prediction had not come to pass.

"Good evening, DNN viewers! I am Lily Jumper." The gaunt newswoman slowly nodded her head, as if such a motion made her identity more valid. "We interrupt this broadcast of '_Lunch Break Chatter' _in order to bring you a critical update in the trial of rookie lawyer Phoenix Wright, who has been accused for the murder of his boss and mentor, well-renowned attorney Mia Fey."

_Always with the recaps, _Jack thought resignedly. _I guess there's nothing to be done about that; practically everyone in this city has no clue as to what's really going on._

"While we have not yet received any official word of Mr. Wright receiving a guilty verdict, it appears that this trial has all but ended. For you see, we have just received word from a highly credible source that Mr. Wright, a man that had the bull-headed audacity to try and serve as his own defense, has collapsed at his bench after realizing his imminent defeat."

Although Jack knew that Wright hadn't possessed a very good chance of pulling off a successful self-defense, hearing the news channel confirm his failure hurt all the same. _It looks like I'm going to have to deal with White for a long time to come, _he thought, miserably rubbing at his stomach.

Von Karma, on the other hand, appeared completely nonchalant. "Stupid newswoman," he muttered dismissively. "How could you have expected any other result? Since the beginning, Miles has always been perfect at getting the correct verdict."

Before Jumper could say anything more on the situation, a short, dark-haired man with headphones walked on-camera and whispered something in her ear. Though it was impossible for Jack to discern exactly what the man was saying, it was obvious from the look on Jumper's face that it wasn't something she expected.

As soon as the man made a hasty retreat, Jumper gave the camera a wide-eyed stare and said, "Pardon the interruption, but I have just received word that DNN has just been given permission to broadcast a live audio-feed of the courtroom while it is in session! According to our production assistant, we have been given this opportunity because all that remains is for the defendant to regain consciousness so that he can be declared guilty of his crime."

Upon this pronouncement, von Karma smacked his left hand against the table, shock clearly written on his elderly face. "They dare to break the sanctity of the courtroom while it is in session?" His eyebrows narrowed dangerously. "This is _unheard of! _What sort of crack-headed legal official would allow such a thing?"

_I believe I know, _Jack thought sadly, remembering what White had said when he ordered Jack to watch the news channel in the first place. _Obviously, when you control enough officials, the unorthodox becomes easy to set up._

Returning his eyes to the TV, he saw that Jumper's newsroom had disappeared; replaced with a graphic of an empty courtroom and the white words "WRIGHT TRIAL PROCEEDINGS", which took up the top third of the screen.

At first, the TV was quiet; the audio feed obviously had not been prepared yet.

"We should be receiving the feed in a matter of a few seconds; as of right now, the courtroom is currently in recess." She paused for a moment, and then, in a much quieter voice, hissed, "Hey, you... Is there any way the viewers are going to be able to tell who is who when we broadcast this thing? We don't have any inside commentary."

"I don't think it matters..." returned another voice, presumably that of DNN's production assistant. "All we were told to do was-"

With a quick series of pops, the man's voice was cut off as the feed was finally activated. At first, all Jack could hear was a series of low, muttering voices; presumably those of the men and women observing the trial.

"Damn headshaking gawkers..." von Karma muttered in disgruntlement. "When I started prosecuting, they used to keep silent at all times, but these days... you can't shut them up for a second." He sipped his martini with an air of disgust.

_"Mr. White."_ An extremely old and gravelly voice spoke out from the TV, bringing the mutterers to a halt.

_That would be the Judge, _Jack thought absently. _Must be the white-bearded one, whatever his name is... Chief Gant brings him here from time to time._

_"Yes, Mr. Your Honor?"_ Jack took in a hissing breath at the sound of White's voice; he could now recognize that nauseatingly pompous tone from just a single short sentence.

_"Could I ask you something? Off the record of course,"_ replied the Judge, clearly curious.

_"But of course!"_ White returned exuberantly. _"I am the witness, after all."_

Von Karma let out a huff of annoyance. "What were these news people thinking? This is small talk they're broadcasting; not courtroom procedure!"

Jack shook his head as the television-Judge asked, _"Exactly why did you place the wiretap in the Fey and Co. Law offices? I understand that there's no need to officially testify about the matter, but I still find it rather odd for someone as highly-regarded as you to do such a thing."_

Jack furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. _Why is White saying __**he **__placed the wiretap? Didn't his secretary get charged for doing that?_

_"Now, now, Mr. Your Honor," _White admonished_, "You know that I do not possessify the clearances to give you that information! I can not possibly break a confidentiality agreement while speaking of a non-related crime!"_

_"Yes, of course..." _muttered the Judge, clearly chastened.

_"That begs to remind me... I must thank you, Miles Edgeworth, for bringing upward the courage to expose my trifilitic crime to light! After all, had it not been for that act of bravitude, that nasty lawyer would have succeeded in making it appear that I was Ms. Mia's killer!"_

_"Oh! Uh... you're welcome, Mr. White."_ Though the voice was a bit more aloof than usual, Jack immediately recognized it as that of Miles Edgeworth.

Jack scratched at his head. _If what White just said was true, that means..._ Upon realization, he pointed an angry finger directly at the television screen. "Damn it, Mr. Edgeworth!" he shouted. "You're protecting Mr. White by making him plead guilty to a different crime!"

Of course, such yelling did nothing to change the actions of the people speaking on the TV, although it did make von Karma let out a huff of annoyance.

_"So, as you can clearly gleam, Your Honor, the... truth of my placing the wiretap in Ms. Mia's office will become splendiferously apparent when I come before a differing court for that offense." _Disturbingly, he paused to chuckle. _"After all, I'm certainious that a proper small crimes court will be... arranged for my trial by tomorrow, will it not?"_

_"Yes... yes, of course!" _replied the Judge, his tone clearly appeasing.

Frowning, Jack thought, _This isn't good at all. In addition to wriggling free from justice after killing Mia, he'll probably arrange it so he doesn't even get slapped on the wrist for tapping her office! _He shook his head. _Not that such a conviction would come close to justifying his getting away with murder. _Letting out a heavy sigh, he wailed, "Mr. Edgeworth... how could you do something so _terrible?"_

"Oh, quit your whining, bartender!" barked von Karma, his tone causing Jack to jump in surprise. "It is not your place to question Miles Edgeworth's abilities! Abilities that _I _taught him, in case you have forgotten! Miles must do everything within his power to make sure that the defendant gets his guilty verdict. That is always what the defendant _deserves!_"

Jack managed to make eye contact with von Karma for all of one second before turning away in annoyance. _Practically every time he comes in here, he spouts out the argument of an infallible court... his damn perfect record blinds him to the possibility of a defendant that's innocent of his crimes!_

Before Jack could formulate another argument, however, the voice of the courtroom Judge rang out once again. _"Bailiff Shadowman!" _he shouted. _"Do you have any news on the defendant?"_

_"Yes. I am pleased to report that the defendant has regained full consciousness and is ready to return to his bench," _a loud, male voice responded._ "Permission for him and his aide to enter the courtroom?"_

_"Yes, let them in."_

Without another word from the strangely-named bailiff, the sound of courtroom doors opening was followed by a great increase in the intensity of the crowd's incessant muttering. Jack and von Karma stared at the stationary TV image for nearly a minute before the gavel's bang finally forced the crowd to quiet.

_"The courtroom will now reconvene for the trial of Mr. Phoenix Wright,"_ said the Judge, his voice now ringing with supreme confidence. _"Is the defendant... rather; are you alright, Mr. Wright?"_

_ "Yes. Sorry, Your Honor. I'm fine now." _Jack almost smirked upon hearing Phoenix Wright's voice for the first time; even though he sounded rather sheepish at the moment, Jack was sure that he could bring the courtroom to a halt if he were to raise it. _As if he'll ever get a chance, _he thought sardonically.

_"Then, let's start where we left off," _the Judge stated simply.

_"Your Honor." _In two short words, Edgeworth quickly dispensed with the aloofness he had shown when the court wasn't in session. _"There is nothing to go back to! The cross-examination of Mr. White is finished! All that is required now is for you to pass judgment on the defendant: Phoenix Wright!"_

Jack let in a hissing breath; as much as he wanted to hope to the contrary, it most definitely sounded as if Wright's fate had already been sealed.

The silence on the TV was interrupted by a sharp, sudden "THUMP"; it reminded Jack of the sound his customers made whenever they slammed a hand against his bar counter.

_"Your honor!" _Wright shouted, his voice louder than Edgeworth's had been before him,_ "Please, give me one more chance. I promise you, this is the last time I'll ask you!" _Jack let out a heavy sigh; it was painful to hear just how much the man was pleading.

The Judge let out a thoughtful noise. _"But, just as Mr. Edgeworth has noted, the trial is more or less finished,"_ he remarked. _"Mr. Edgeworth, do you have an opinion on this matter?"_

Jack rubbed his stomach nervously. _Come on, Mr. Edgeworth, _he thought, _it can't end here!_

_"I say..." _Edgeworth began hesitantly.

Jack held his breath.

_"Let us give Mr. Phoenix Wright his 'last chance.'"_

Jack ignored von Karma's harrumph and let out a sigh of relief.

_"Very well!" _the Judge shouted, his tone definitive. _"You may begin your cross-examination."_

Jack distinctly heard White's elaborate sigh before the horrid man began to speak. _"It was the beginning of September... the week before the murder,"_ he stated clearly.

Jack absently wondered exactly what White would say next, but he didn't get very far before...

_**"Objection!" **_Wright's shout resounded through the speaker. Jack shuttered just a bit; the defense attorney had managed to put more power into that one word than he had thought possible.

_"Look closely at this," _Wright stated firmly. _"See the word 'Maya' written in blood?"_

Jack's eyes widened as he realized that Wright was bringing up the piece of evidence that Edgeworth had deemed so critical just three days before. _Is he going to try and uncover the conspiracy, _he thought, _ just with __**that?**_

_"Bwah hah! You're grasping!"_ Obviously, Edgeworth had the same idea.

_"I think not," _Wright retorted calmly. _"Look at the other side of the receipt."_

_"Th-the other side?" _Edgeworth stammered.

Jack was just as surprised. _That thing has stuff on the other side?_ Confused, he scratched at his head. _I guess Mr. Wright has possession of the original..._

Amazing, von Karma too appeared to be at a loss. "I knew I should have looked over that case before I came here," he muttered grumpily. "I have no idea what is going on!"

It was as von Karma finished his complaint that the Judge finally gained possession of the blood-stained receipt. He made a thoughtful noise before declaring, _"Well! A 'glass light stand! And the date of purchase... why, that's the day before the murder!"_

_"You see!" _Wright yelled, his voice burning with confidence.

_No... I don't, _Jack thought, wondering what the hell a glass light stand had to do with anything.

_"Mr. White," _Wright continued, _"When you allegedly entered Fey and Co. Law Offices at the beginning of September..." _A pause. _"The stand could not have been there!"_

Before Jack could wonder any further, his ears were met with the most wonderful sound.

_"Kwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh!?"_ The television literally shook as White let out a supreme scream of agonized confusion, followed by a brief silence and... Sobbing?

Without thinking, Jack got up to his feet. _I'm still not completely sure what's going on over there... but... did Mr. Wright actually pull it off? _The pain in Jack's stomach started to fade as he felt the first warm stirrings of hope.

_"Well, Mr. White?" _Wright asked jeeringly. _"Can't get out of this one, can you?"_

_"No..."_White moaned despairingly. _"It's impossachievable..."_

"My God... He's losing it!" Von Karma's loud shush was the only thing keeping Jack from breaking into laughter.

_"Well, Your Honor," _Wright said, his tone pleasantly final. _"I understand there must be quite a bit of __**pressure**__ on you. But I think you'll agree you can't judge me 'guilty' under these circumstances."_

Now Jack did laugh, for it seemed that Wright had known what he was facing after all.

Von Karma, on the other hand, let out a growl of frustration. "Miles... you can't let it end like this!" he shouted. "Stop him!" He snapped his fingers, as if Edgeworth could actually hear him.

_"Very well," _the Judge stated, unaware of the emotional outbursts of two men in a bar five miles away from his courtroom. _"Then that is all of the trial of..."_

_**"Objection!" **_the Judge was interrupted as Edgeworth shouted the critical word. _"Not so fast, Phoenix Wright!" _he declared, his tone mocking.

**"Eh?" **Jack and Mr. Wright made an identical noise of surprise. _What is Edgeworth doing?! It's supposed to be over!_

_"There is a certain thread of logic to the defendant's claims,"_ Edgeworth stated quickly. _"However! There is no concrete proof that Phoenix Wright is innocent!"_

Jack's mouth dropped open as the crowd started to mutter; what kind of reasoning was that?

_"Ergo! I would like to request one more day before Phoenix Wright is granted his freedom. I need time to make one more inquiry into this matter." _In spite of the somewhat stretched argument, Edgeworth somehow managed to keep his voice sounding confident.

In response, the Judge made an appallingly considerate noise.

"Damn it, Mr. Edgeworth!" Jack shouted at the television. "Mr. Wright is innocent! What the hell is there left for you to do?!"

"Whatever it takes!" von Karma barked in response.

Jack set his teeth and returned his attention to the TV screen. The mutterings of the courtroom observers went on for several seconds before falling silent to another slam of flesh against wood.

_"Mr. White's guilt is obvious!" _Wright yelled heavily. _"There is no need to prolong this trial any further!"_

"Damn straight!" Jack yelled as the Judge continued to consider.

_"Well, Mr. Edgeworth?" _he asked sharply.

_"If anyone is going to call Mr. White to trial, it would be me, the prosecution," _Edgeworth recited. _"I need a day to ascertain whether your claims have any basis in factual evidence!"_

Jack held his breath as the Judge continued to consider. Then...

_"I see," _he said blankly. _"Objection denied!"_

**"Whaaaat!"** Wright and Jack let out the examination at the same time; they were equally shocked at the sudden reversal.

_"The completion of the trial of Mr. Phoenix Wright will be postponed until tomorrow!" _the Judge announced, completely ignoring the DA's outburst.

Jack sat back down in his chair as the pain in his stomach returned with a vengeance. _Damn it, Mr. Edgeworth, what happened to you?! I thought you wanted to see Mia's "true killer" brought to justice!_

_"Mr. Your Honor!" _White shouted, his voice proclaiming that his confidence had been restored._ "May I go home?"_

_"Of course," _the Judge said gently. _"Thank you for your time."_

**"No!" **Jack shouted, angrily slamming his good fist against the counter beside him. "How can you let that... that **monster** go home without punishment?"

Von Karma snarled at Jack's insinuation, but he wouldn't be able to say a word before...

_"The witness will stay!" _An eerily familiar voice shouted through the television speakers.

Had Jack not already been sitting down, he likely would have fallen over in shock. "M-Mia...?" he whispered questioningly, before negating that impression with a shake of his head. _No, it can't be Mia. If anyone, it must be __**Maya **__Fey; she's obviously got a damn good reason to be at Mr. Wright's side. _Jack looked up and let out a low whistle. "But, damn..." he muttered. "Their voices are so similar, it's scary..."

Jack returned his attention to the TV; Maya and Mr. Wright were talking about something; but he couldn't tell what. The ever-impatient observers again began to mutter.

_"Your Honor."_ Wright's confidence-filled voice brought the room to silence once again. _"If I may...?"_

_"You're quite persistent today, Mr. Wright!"_ retorted the Judge, mildly surprised.

_Well, __**duh!**_ Jack thought sardonically. _He's trying to save his life, here!_

_"I have something I would like to read to the court!" _Wright declared, ignoring the Judge's skepticism.

"He's going to _read _something to the court?" von Karma growled snidely. "What is he, a filibustering politician?"

Outwardly, Jack let out a sigh, but he had to admit that von Karma had a point._ What's Mr. Wright trying to pull here?_

Before he could think any further on the matter, however, Wright began to read whatever it was he had before him.

_"Edward Summer."_ He allowed the name to echo into silence before saying another one. _"Jonathan Williams."_

"What kind of evidence is this?" von Karma sneered. He paused to waggle an accusing finger at the TV screen. "This... roll-call has no place in a court of law!"

_"Randy Gray. Irene Stephenson. Beverly Clearwater..."_

"Wait a second," Jack muttered thoughtfully. "Wasn't Beverly Clearwater that ice skater that drowned herself in the Eagle River a few years back?"

Von Karma merely huffed in response.

_"Jackie Winthrop. Steve Gottfried. Marcus Pennabacker..."_

"I remember that name," Jack blurted. "He used to own all those fancy buildings in the Business District before he went and jumped off of one of them."

_"Ronald Carter. Patricia Adamson. Gordon Skeptic..."_

Now von Karma let out a low noise of surprise. "Skeptic became Chief Prosecutor shortly after I started working here. He finally got promoted to Assistant Public Prosecutor in 2007... But he slit his wrists a few months later."

_"Debra Hamlin. Rosa Garcia. Richard Richardson..."_

"And Richard Richardson's the old congressman that shot himself in the head last month!" Jack exclaimed in shock. "They're all suicide victims!"

"But what do a bunch of pathetic life-quitters have to do with this trial?!" von Karma snapped in derision.

Jack remembered White's blackmail empire and frowned. _More than you could imagine, _he thought sadly.

_"Jacquelyn Boa. Daniel Mann..."_

"My God," Jack whispered. "Mann almost became the Prime Minister before he died in that boat explosion!"

Von Karma shook his head. "Waste of flesh," he muttered darkly.

_"Nathaniel Weaver. Adam Samuels. Harold-"_

_"S-s-stop! Desist! Halt!" _White's frantic cries brought a rather sudden end to Wright's recital of names. _"P-please, stop! Make him stop!"_

"What the hell's going on now?" von Karma asked, clearly confused.

_"How... how did you get that list!?" _White added, his voice the epitome of both shock and horror.

Jack smiled rather suddenly; he had been wondering about that as well. Of course, considering the effect it had on the normally unshakable man, he decided it didn't really matter anyway.

_"Mr. White." _For the second time that hour, the bizarrely mature voice of Maya Fey echoed across the courtroom. _"Admit your guilt, right here, right now." _A dramatic pause. _"Or else this list will be released to the press!"_

Impressed, Jack let out a low whistle. _Damn, for such for a sweet looking girl, she sounds awful cold and scary..._

Von Karma, on the other hand, let out a confused snarl. "What kind of threat is that?!" he yelled. "Doesn't she know they're broadcasting this mockery of a trial to every uneducated fool in the whole damn city?!"

Upon hearing von Karma's question, Jack clapped a hand against his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud. _**Maya Fey**__ doesn't know a thing about the audio feed, _he thought amusedly. _**Mr. White,**__ on the other hand... _He returned his attention to the television, where an eerie silence had taken over the audio feed. Jack counted one, two, three seconds before...

_"I... I confess," _White whispered. _"I confess." _He said it louder the second time. _"I... I did it. I hit her. I hit Miss Mia with 'The Thinker'!"_

Jack stood up again, his heart hammering heavily as he heard White say the words he'd never expected him to say. He, the TV courtroom and, freakishly enough, Manfred von Karma all remained quiet as White's words sunk in.

_"Case closed, Your Honor." _The mildly amused words of Maya Fey finally broke the heavy silence.

_"Well, I see no reason to continue this trial."_ In spite of the finality of his words, the Judge still seemed rather surprised by White's sudden confession. _"Mr. Wright?"_

_"Yes, Your Honor?"_

_"You've done it again! That was quite a spirited defense!"_

_"Yes, Your Honor." _Wright's voice sounded somewhat smug as he added, _"I guess you could say that."_

"Damn straight!" Jack yelled, pumping his good fist into the air. Von Karma remained silent, though Jack noticed that a muscle in his eye was starting to twitch.

On the audio feed, the Judge made a thoughtful noise in response._"Well!" _he announced, _"This court finds the defense," _he coughed awkwardly, _"Rather, the defendant, Mr. Phoenix Wright..." _He paused. _**"Not Guilty!" **_Another pause, and then, finally... _"That is all. The court is adjourned!"_

Only after the gavel banged did Jack finally give in to his urge to jump into the air and let out a "Whoop!" of unrestrained joy. Upon landing, however, he didn't even get to realize how foolish he'd looked before his thoughts were interrupted by a most terrible noise.

**"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaargh!"** In a single drawn-out scream of rage, von Karma managed to effectively put forward his opinion in regards to the outcome of the trial. Jack's eyes widened as he watched von Karma slam his fist against the counter; the force was strong enough to knock his empty martini glass over.

Von Karma started to mutter something under his breath, but Jack paid no mind; he instead deftly picked up the toppled glass and placed in the sink. Before he could bother trying to interpret his customer's grumbles, however, he was interrupted by a sudden popping noise from the television. Realizing that the ill-fated audio feed had finally been shut off, he turned back to the screen to see what would happen next.

The still courtroom scene remained prominently displayed for just a few more seconds before the network cut back to Lily Jumper's news desk. For the first time in Jack's recent memory, the woman's wan face was literally stuck in a rather comical expression of shock.

"Um, well... it seems, er..." Obviously, she didn't know what to say. Her head frantically turned from side to side, as if hoping to find a mystical cue-card that would tell her what to say next. "And, so... I believe it's apparent that... er..." Apparently clueless, she tilted her head to one side and mouthed, "Help me!"

Almost immediately, the production assistant from the earlier broadcast rushed on stage and again started to frantically whisper in Jumper's ear. This time however, the exchange went back and forth for nearly half a minute before the man nodded and sidled out of the picture.

Jumper's dark eyes shined with a rarely-seen enthusiasm as she finally returned her attention to the camera once again. "For those of you who are just tuning in after the end of that monumental audio presentation, the Fey murder trial has just concluded with a Not Guilty verdict for the defendant: incredibly talented rookie lawyer Phoenix Wright!" She seemed to take no notice that she was complementing someone she'd been vilifying less than an hour before. "In spite of being presented with the unbelievable burden of having to defend himself in a hostile court, he managed to exonerate himself by bringing about the confession of the true killer: formerly well-renounced businessman Redd White, CEO of Bluecorp Inc!"

A stock photo of White, his smarmy smile as big as ever, appeared above Jumper's left shoulder.

"Presumably, now that Mr. White has confessed to the death of Ms. Fey, he will be placed in a detention center cell pending the brief court procedure that will be necessary to finalize his conviction. Presumably, that will occur sometime before the end of next week." A thoughtful look on her face, Jumper continued, "Of course, there will undoubtedly be further investigations towards any other crimes Mr. White may have committed, not to mention the ethics of the company he founded and has been running for the past ten years. I mean, _my God, _he's even been messing with this very..." Here, Jumper stopped and rapidly shook her head; it was obvious that she had been about to say too much. "Of course, DNN is still gathering facts on this incredible turn of events; we will be releasing more information on the ramifications of the Fey murder trial and Mr. Redd White's confession as it arrives. We now return you to..." Unexpectedly, Jumper stopped and let out a bizarrely feminine giggle. "I seem to have forgotten what is on at this hour, but rest assured, we are returning you to it! Happy days, viewers!"

As Jumper's face cut away to the breaking news fanfare one last time, Jack chuckled, grabbed his remote, and turned the set off. _I guess a lot of influential people are going to be happy when they see that White's finally been taken down, _he thought cheerfully. _Hell, if I'm lucky, I'll probably have a ton of customers before the night is through._

After dispensing with that pleasant thought, Jack noticed that von Karma was still darkly muttering things under his breath. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Jack placed a hand on the bar counter and asked, "What seems to be the problem now, Mr. von Karma?"

Von Karma ceased his muttering in order to shoot Jack a narrow-eyed glare. After several awkward seconds had passed, he shook his head and let out a bitter sigh.

"For forty years, I have been arguing in various courts of law," he stated, his low voice strangely flat. "My skills are perfect; I have forged a glorious reputation for the von Karma name by winning every case that has ever been brought before me." He frowned grumpily, as if berating Jack for making him speak of such matters. "For ten years, I trained Miles in every last aspect of becoming a prosecutor; crafting an heir that would be able to maintain this legacy for decades longer than I would be able to myself."

Jack, surprised that he'd gotten von Karma to say anything constructive in the first place, only nodded.

"For four years, my protégé managed to enter those same courtrooms and meet my every expectation." Von Karma's face looked prideful for a brief moment before he turned towards the TV with a sneer of contempt. **"But now!" **he yelled, his eyes bulging in anger. "Now, not even before my years of prosecuting have come to an end, he has _shamed _the von Karma name with this... this... this unspeakable defeat! Miles has _destroyed _his perfect record, and that is something he will _never _be able to get back!" With a heavy sigh, he waggled his finger at the TV pointlessly and forced himself to calm back down to his typical demeanor.

Jack blinked a couple times in shock; although von Karma had always been prone to fits of anger or frustration, never before had he seen one so... personal. As happy as he was that Edgeworth had failed to stop White from confessing his guilt, he felt an obligation to try and console the man sitting before him.

"You know, Mr. von Karma..." he began awkwardly, "It's not as though Mr. Edgeworth threw his victory away on _purpose_ or anything. You heard him just as much as I did; he was pulling out every last trick in the book to make sure that the Judge would find Mr. Wright guilty! It's just... the defendant didn't do it, so it wasn't his lucky day. That's all."

Von Karma merely sneered and waggled his finger once again. "No, bartender, that is where _you_ are wrong," he stated confidently. "Miles never should have let that farce of a trial progress to the point that a Not Guilty verdict could be_ conceived, _let alone declared! Though I am not yet sure of the specifics, there's almost _certainly _a point earlier in the proceedings where he could have been more aggressive and ended it." Here, von Karma again looked at the TV and frowned. "At the very least, he could have not bothered with giving that foolish defense attorney a 'last chance'." Before Jack could say anything else, he added, "Of course, you do not really care of such matters, _bartender._ After all, you were celebrating like a nitwit when the Judge announced that tainted judgment!"

In spite of von Karma's angry stare, Jack cracked a smile. "Well, Mr. von Karma, I guess that's something that couldn't be avoided. Believe me when I say I knew full well that Mr. White was guilty and Mr. Wright was not."

Von Karma's face scrunched up, as though he'd just taken a swig of bitters. "It appears to me that you,_ bartender, _are nothing more than a foolishly idealistic... fool! Charge the martini to my tab; I'll pay for it at the beginning of next month." After one last weary sigh, von Karma lifted himself to his feet, strode across the room, and forced his way through the door.

Jack smiled as the door chime sounded in von Karma's wake. "Alone again," he muttered aloud. He stared around the bar for a few moments before deciding that the counter area could use a good wiping down.

"Thank God White's going to get what's coming to him," he said as he grabbed a rag and ran it under the water. "I still don't know what I would have done about his 'proposal' had he not been forced to confess."

Whistling a cheerful tune, Jack wrung out the rag and started scrubbing the bar counter with obvious relish.

_It's a damn good thing that Mr. Wright knew what he was doing, even after White set him up like that, the bastard. I wonder if he'll ever realize just how many future lives he saved... _Jack shook his head; he'd nearly missed a spot. _Maybe I ought to try and tell him... I could send him a thank you card... one with instructions on how to get here... of course, I'd have to give Donny a heads up in order to make sure that Mr. Wright can get in here..._

As his thoughts returned to his best friend, Jack let out a sigh. "You know, I acted like a real ass when he was in here earlier today," he told the empty room. "Of course, I was in a bit of a bind at the time, but there was no way that _he _could have known that."

Without thinking, Jack's gaze fell on the large piece of gauze that still covered the back of his right hand. He frowned at it for a moment before squaring his shoulders and coming to a decision.

"Donny might not be very happy to be getting a call from me in the middle of his shift," he mused as he picked up the cordless phone from its spot on the wall. "But I'm sure he'll come by when his shift's done after I invite him to listen to my 'long story'..." With a contented chuckle, he started to dial.

* * *

**A/N: **I'll admit, having the end of the trial on the TV was a rather strange way to present what technically serves as the dramatic climax of all Case 2. To be honest, I don't think that something this convoluted led to White's confession in the actual canon, but this is at least _possible_, and it's what I came up with as a way to tie the canon story and the events of this fiction together. Additionally, writing the off-topic banter and the actual list of names (with associated deaths) was a rather interesting exercise in creativity as well. I probably won't be using this interleaving of canon and fanfic in future cases though, because 1) the nature of the initial trial system and 2) the fact that witnesses rarely know what happened in court the day(s) before their testimonies leads me to believe that the society is too legally conservative to share that much information on a regular (i.e. non-blackmailed) basis. This is why I had von Karma express such shock when he heard that the news channel was actually broadcasting audio from a courtroom: to him, it's something that simply isn't done. 

Now that I've got that rant down, one more thing I think I should clarify:

**Jack's Fey Family Confusion:** Jack, being neither an expert nor a true believer in the powers of the Fey family's chanelling techniques, jumps to the only conclusion (Mia must be Maya) that makes sense to him when he hears Mia's voice. The subject of Spirit Mediums in GS1 is rather tricky, after all, as GS1 gives the impression that spirit channeling goes largely unnoticed by those not in the 'know'. Reconciling this with GS2 and 3, in which spirit chanelling suddenly becomes valid enough to be argued over in courts, is rather difficult. That's also why I stuck to an audio link to the courtroom and not a visual one.

The next chapter of this story is the last part of Episode 2 (II-7) and serves as the denouncement; basically, I reintroduce Edgeworth into the bar and have him, Jack, and several other characters argue how he handed 1-2 and his overall courtroom philosophy. Don't expect them to make too much headway, though; in spite of the number I'm doing on the canon plot, Phoenix Wright is still the principal catalyst that will force Edgeworth to truly change his ways later on. Until next time, readers...

-DSL


	14. Ep II Part 7: Beyond Bluecorp

**Note: **Phoenix Wright / Gyakuten Saiban, its settings, plot points, and characters, are all the property of Capcom, and are being used here without permission. This chapter takes place during the evening after the end of GS1-2; Spoilers for that case and references to others, most definitely.

**Episode II: A Toast to the Sisters**

_Part 7/7: Beyond Blue(Corp)_

**September 9****th****, 2016, 6:18 PM**

"Okay, Jack... let me make sure I got this all straight." Donny Docket's eyes were wide; he paid little attention to the empty beer mug before him as he tried to mull things over. "So, yesterday, that Redd White guy, the _same _person that confessed to Ms. Mia's murder this afternoon, came _here?__"_

"Yes," said Jack, frowning slightly.

"And he pretty much told you that he'd been the real killer guy, even though the trial wasn't finished?"

"Yep. He was a real jerk about it, too," Jack said tersely.

"And then he told you that he already had the entire trial under his control?"

"Yes."

Donny furiously scratched at the back of his head in an attempt to keep thinking. "And then he threatened you... said he was going to ruin you, me, and... and L-l-the Chief if you tried to talk?"

"That's right."

"And he used that stupid old blog I kept back in High School to help shut you up?"

Jack sighed. "Yes, though I'm sure he would have had something else had he needed it."

"And that's when he burned your hand?"

"Yes. Until then, I never knew they made cigars that wide..."

Donny ignored Jack's attempt at dark humor. "And then he put the entire end of the trial on TV, just to make sure you wouldn't screw with his plan?"

"That's what he hoped, anyway."

"And then that Mr. Wright guy completely screwed up his plan instead... and that's why he confessed?"

Jack smiled. "I believe so."

Donny blinked once, twice, and slammed his hand against the table with as much force as he could muster. "Damn it all to hell!" he shouted, before shaking his head and adding, "And get me another beer, please. I... I still can't quite take it all in."

Jack tried not to laugh at his friend's reaction. "Its okay, Don. When I told you it was a long story, I hadn't been kidding." Absently, he grabbed a mug out from under the counter and put it under the proper beer tap.

"Damn straight you hadn't," muttered Donny. He shook his head again and frowned. "I guess I can sort of get why you are acting all weird during my lunch break... you weren't sure what was going to happen and all... but it was still really creepy!"

Jack sighed. "I'm really sorry I acted like that." Silently, he sat Donny's drink in front of him.

Donny ignored the beer and waved a dismissive hand. "It's all right," he said. "It's just..."

Jack crossed his arms. "Just what?"

"Well, when you were putting on that ice cube act today... did you notice that you were acting _exactly _like L-l-"

Jack frowned. "Like Lana?"

Donny snapped his fingers. "Yeah, just like her!" he exclaimed brightly. "That's what got me more than anything... one old friend going nasty's more than enough." He sighed and sipped his drink before appearing wistful once again. "Hey, do you think that...?"

"Think what?" asked Jack, mildly annoyed by Donny's constant trailing off.

"If you were giving me that cold and spacey treatment because White was messing with you, do you think that... the Chief has been giving _us_the cold and spacey treatment because White was messing with _her?_Maybe she's been keeping away from us to protect us... you know, that whole storybook-hero type thing!"

Jack's eyes widened in surprise as he considered the possibility. "You know, Donny, that might just be true!" In spite of himself, he started to feel mildly hopeful.

Donny's face broke into a wide smile. "Damn straight, Jack! Why don't we try giving her a call; we can see if she treats us like she did in the old days!"

Jack thought about it for a moment before frowning and shaking his head. "It's not that easy, Don," he said with a sigh. "She hasn't acted pleasant towards us since she got promoted to the Chief's office... asking her if she's been catering to the whims of a murderer for a year and a half is not the best way to break such a silence."

Donny's face fell. "But...?"

"Tell you what, Don," said Jack, rubbing at the center of his forehead. "You're in that little guard station of yours seven or eight hours a day, are you not? Keep an eye out for her and see if you can get her to talk to you... if White's the reason she turned sour on us, you should be able to figure it out." Looking downward, he added, "Of course, if things really work out well, she'll come to _us_ in order to apologize... she started the rift, after all."

The bar fell into silence as Donny merely nodded and sipped at his beer. Jack placed the other mug in the sink and managed to get it halfway washed before the sound of the door chime forced him to turn around once again.

Upon looking across the room, Jack held back a chuckle; of all the mismatched duos he'd even seen enter his bar, Winston Payne and Robert Hammond had to be one of the most uneven. Even before they'd made it to the bar counter, he could see that their moods were exact opposites: Payne was wearing a smarmy grin whilst Hammond's expression was even grumpier than what was normal for him.

Before Jack could say a word, Donny wheeled around on his barstool and exclaimed, "Hey, Mr. H; Mr. P! Have a seat, guys! Relax! Make yourselves at home!"

Payne took a step backwards in surprise before letting out a squeaky chuckle. "You do know how to greet people with enthusiasm, don't you, Mr. Docket?" He tapped his hand to his forehead once before settling on the barstool to Donny's right.

Hammond, of course, was not quite as pleased. "A real charmer," he muttered sarcastically. He let out a tortured sigh before taking a seat two spots away from Payne.

"Don't mind Donny; he forgot to put his head on straight this morning," Jack said with a wry grin. "Now what I get you two?"

"Whiskey," Hammond said tersely. "Make it a double, and don't bother trying to serve it all fancy."

Jack nodded. "And you, Mr. Payne?"

"My usual, please!" Payne chimed eagerly. "Today is a good day for celebration, after all!"

"You know, Mr. Payne, I don't disagree with that statement one bit. Now, if you'll give me but a moment..." Jack turned and headed for the liquor shelves first; Hammond's request was definitely the easier to fulfill.

While Jack grabbed one of the finer whiskey bottles and searched for a tall shot glass, Donny said, "Well, I guess you two have heard about today's big legal news, then."

Payne let out a somewhat girly-sounding laugh. "You're quite right, Mr. Docket! I know I'm a prosecutor, but I'm happy to see that Redd White man get thrown in jail all the same!"

"Really?" Donny asked incredulously. "Well, I guess I'm glad-"

"-I mean, even _I _could see that something was wrong when they let the Fey-girl go and tried to put pink-shirt in jail again!" Payne ranted, oblivious to the fact that Donny had tried to speak again. "Heaven forbid I try to like that guy, but the way they tried to switch everything around without extra evidence was crazy!" He let out a little huff of annoyance. "Besides, if anyone's going to put that puffed-up porcupine in prison, it's going to be _me!__"_

"And I'm sure a man of your... stature will succeed where the once-perfect Miles Edgeworth has failed," Hammond sneered, before slamming a fist against the counter with a bang. _"__Is my drink done yet, Keeper?!__"_he bellowed.

"Give it one more moment, please," Jack muttered, trying to keep his teeth from grinding at his customer's impatience. He held Hammond's drink to his eye for one last inspection before declaring it done. "Double whiskey, no frills," he said dully as he placed it on the counter.

"About time." Hammond didn't even bother to look at his drink before he took it to his lips and drained nearly half the contents. His face contorted for just a moment before he appraised it with a dull, "It's good. Carry on."

As Jack started getting to work on one of Payne's beloved Shirley Temples, Donny decided to make another attempt at conversation. "So, how do you feel about that Wright guy getting a not guilty verdict, Mr. Hammond? You're a fellow defense attorney, after all."

A moment passed before Jack heard the distinctive noise of a shot glass being slammed against the bar counter. "I'm damn pissed off, if you must know!" Hammond bellowed gruffly. "You can't even beginto imagine how far this... _development_ has set me back!"

Jack frowned; from the way Hammond was speaking, it sounded as though he'd been an accomplice to White's many crimes. "Maybe if you explain yourself better, we'll understand," he said, turning away from Payne's drink so that he could look directly at Hammond's face.

For what it was worth, Hammond didn't flinch in the slightest. "It's quite simple, Mr. Keeper." Waving a weary hand through the air, he continued, "For the past ten years or so, Mr. White has hired me to defend many of his company's various workers. Though I tried on many occasions to get him to pay me solely in cash, he always _insisted_ on paying at least a part of my fee in shares of his company instead. If I recall my latest financial statements, that damn Bluecorp stock counted for nearly thirty percent of my net worth! Of course, now that the President's about to land himself in prison, I doubt that that will be true anymore."

Jack merely frowned again before returning to Payne's drink in silence. _Hammond never was the type of attorney that cared about the innocence of his clients, _he thought grimly. _Who knows how many opportunities to bring down the company were thwarted because of his skills..._

Donny seemed to be thinking along similar lines. "Well, you reap what you sow, I guess," he said with an awkward chuckle.

Jack could only nod in agreement as he dropped two maraschino cherries into Payne's drink and declared the Shirley Temple done. Still mulling over what Hammond had said, he gently sat it on the bar counter without a single word.

"Oh, Mr. Keeper, before I forget, I have something to tell you..." With one hand, Hammond motioned for Jack to get closer.

_I wonder what this is about... _After briefly making sure that Payne was happy with his drink, he moved to face Hammond and leaned forward on the bar so that their faces were only about a foot apart.

After a satisfied smirk, Hammond stated, "I received a visit from that eyesore of an attorney Upton Washer this afternoon."

Jack nodded, his expression darkening a bit as he remembered the accursed customers Washer had brought in the night before. "I'm surprised Washer visited _you,_" he muttered finally. "He doesn't seem to be your biggest fan."

Hammond grimaced. "Indeed, that is quite true, but... my office is only two blocks away from his, and he must have wanted to find the closest sympathetic ear he could. He was in quite a state of shock when he barged in my office... his tie was on crooked, his hair was greased the wrong way... shedding tears faster then he could spout synonyms, if you can believe it." He let out a light chuckle. "To say I was not pleased to see him would be an understatement."

Jack smirked as he tried to picture just how displeased Hammond would have truly been. "Believe me, Mr. Hammond; I'm rather relieved that he ran to you and not me instead. But why are you telling me this?"

Hammond frowned. "After he'd blubbered all over my fine carpeting, Washer told me to give you a message."

Jack placed his injured hand against his chest in surprise. "Give_ me _a message?"

"Indeed, give you a message!" Hammond snapped impatiently. Taking a deep breath, he continued, "He told me to tell you, and I quote, 'I'm sorry about Niño.'" Hammond sniffed at the air. "Exactly_ what _that statement is supposed to mean, I do not know."

Jack shot Hammond a skeptical glare; he'd been defending Bluecorp employees for ten years and he didn't know the president's nickname? _Of course, White was most definitely as slippery as they come, _he thought. _He could have given different nicknames to different __"__friends__"__, for all I know. _He sighed. _As for Washer..._

"Well?" asked Hammond. "Aren't you going to tell me what it means? At the very least, I need a response so that I can get weepy Washrag off my back..."

Jack let out a hissing breath as he came to a decision. "The next time you run into Washer, tell him to come here. I'll only accept his apology if he has the integrity to give it to my face."

Hammond considered that for a moment before slowly nodding. "I'll make sure to tell him the first opportunity I get," he said gruffly. "The way he was acting earlier, I don't know if he _has_ the bal- er, the 'integrity' to do such a thing but... at least it'll get him to leave me alone." He smiled for just a moment before returning to his usual gloomy expression. "Now then, I must see just how much damage these developments have done to me. Turn on the financial channel, and get me more whiskey. I'm going to need it."

"If you say so." After a brief pause to make sure Donny and Payne were still all right, Jack turned on the TV and, after a few seconds of frantic flipping, managed to find the city's financial network. Curious, he started making Hammond's drink in such a way that he could watch the screen at the same time.

"...with each passing minute, we are receiving word of more and more ramifications in regards to Bluecorp President and CEO Redd White's confessing to intentional murder," stated a young newswoman with heavily tanned skin and frizzy white hair. "The latest of these many stories is that the State Government has confirmed the formation of yet another centralized investigation, this one searching for information that Bluecorp may possess in regards to the tragic suicide death of Congressman Richard Richardson. As for the bottom line, although Mr. White's confession occurred less than two hours before trading closed for the day, the ensuing avalanche of bad new has caused the stock value to tumble an unprecedented eighty-seven percent. And, considering the rate at which this negative press is accelerating, it's highly probable that there won't even be any value to trade when the market reopens on Monday..."

Hammond let out a wounded moan. "Ugh, change the channel, change the channel! And where's my whiskey?!"

"Right here," said Jack, placing the new glass before him.

"Good," was Hammond's only reply before he downed over half the contents. "You might as well get me a third one now; I'm going to need it too."

Jack merely shook his head before approaching Donny and Payne. "Do either of you want anything else? You'd better tell me now, before Hammond drags me away again."

"Nothing right now," said Payne, pointing to his half-filled glass.

Donny stuck out a thumb and turned it downward. "Nah." He then glanced to the left; a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Unless you want to tell me what Mr. H's being all hush-hush with you about, of course."

Jack shrugged. "He was just giving me more complaints; that's all. It hasn't really been his day." He shot Donny a wry smile before turning about and using his good left hand to pick up the television remote and press two buttons. "He also told me to change the channel. Hopefully the regular news will keep him quiet."

Returning his attention to the TV screen, Jack was met with the sight of legal-correspondent Bill Grantor; his bearded face was even more tired looking than usual.

_It__'__s too late for this to be his show... the network__'__s probably been making him spout information ever since the trial ended, _Jack thought levelly.

"...the final blows, of course, did not occur until the end of the trial, after Mr. Wright's return to consciousness," Grantor stated, his voice slow and heavy. "For you see, Mr. Wright used a department store receipt, which he had located on the other side of an irrelevant piece of evidence, to prove that Mr. White could not, in fact, have seen the glass light stand when he allegedly wiretapped the Fey and Co. Law offices. After this contradiction was pointed out, the only conclusion that remained was that White had seen it after it was purchaced on the morning of Ms. Fey's murder. With that, it became rather obvious that White must have been at the crime scene during the time of the murder, and not only when he was supposedly placing a wiretap the week before."

"Man, Bill's being even more long-winded than usual," Donny said mockingly. "Did you get any of that, Jack?"

"A bit," Jack replied, smiling. _So that__'__s why the light stand was so damn important. A rather odd way to bring about the fall of a conspiracy, that__'__s for damn sure._

"This was not the end of the story, however, as Mr. Edgeworth objected to Wright's conclusions and asked the Judge to delay the verdict for another day of investigation, citing nothing more than a lack of definitive proof in the defendant's innocence. In hindsight, such a move seems to be rather cold and callous, but we are talking about the demon prosecutor, after all." Grantor chuckled wryly.

Upon hearing Donny let out a strangled noise, Jack turned his attention way from the TV. _I guess he didn__'__t expect Edgeworth to be capable of such a move, _he thought, casting a wary gaze over his friend's open-mouthed expression.

Before he could say a word about it, however, Hammond slammed another fist against the bar counter. _"__Turn off this junk too, Keeper!__"_ he yelled. "I can't stand to hear another word about that miserable excuse for a trial!"

Jack clenched his teeth in annoyance, but did as he was told. _Hopefully, Hammond will calm down a bit once all that whiskey gets __through his system... _he thought solemnly. _I think my poor counter__'__s had enough punishment for one day._

The momentary silence was broken when Donny made another noise, this time one of awe. "Damn..." he muttered. "I didn't realize Edgeworth fought so hard once everyone knew that White jerk was guilty... I don't think I feel so sorry for him losing any more."

"A good prosecutor fights to the end," recited Payne, absently swirling his drink with his finger. "Of course, that might be a bit beyond the end... even baseless conjecture has its limits." He laughed airily.

"When he made that argument, it was already the end," Jack said wearily. "By that time, he was just trying to save his verdict, what with his dismissing all the arguments and whining for more time." Absently, he added, "I wonder if he's going to show up anytime tonight... I don't see why he wouldn't, unless he wants to avoid me or something."

Donny's eyebrows drew together in thought. "Well, Mr. E does seem to be the avoiding type... but this is a really bad thing that happened! From his perspective, anyway." He tilted his head and shrugged. "I'm not sure." He turned on his barstool so that he was facing Payne. "What do you think, Mr. P?"

Payne frowned. "I am not an expert on Mr. Edgeworth's behavior." He plucked a cherry out of his drink and popped it in his mouth. "When he shows up, he shows up."

Donny frowned before leaning forward so that he could see beyond Payne's meager frame. "Hey, Mr. H! Do you think Mr. E's going to show up? He hasn't been in here for a while!"

Hammond's face went from its usual scowl to one of alarm. "Blast," he muttered. "I needed to drink so badly, I forgot to consider that!" Oddly enough, his voice was much higher-pitched than usual.

"Hey, what's with you, Mr. H? You stopped grumping... and your eyes are really big!" Obviously, Donny too noticed the difference in Hammond's demeanor.

Hammond coughed and turned to his third drink, which still sat completely filled on the counter before him. "Well, Mr. Docket, it's just that... well... oh, it does not matter." He cast his gaze about the room before focusing on Payne. "So, um, Mr. Prosecutor," he said jerkily. "How well have you fared with your caseload this past week?"

Payne, as usual, appeared shocked at the fact that one of the other customers was speaking to him. "Oh, uh, well... I had a decent victory on Monday, and then I was handling guilty pleas on Tuesday..."

Jack frowned at the doubly awkward conversation. _Even after two double whiskeys, Hammond__'__s not the type of person to stammer or make small talk... What__'__s going on here?_

He wondered whether he should see what Donny's thoughts were, but the door chime cut his musing short. He raised his eyebrows in mild surprise as he watched Miles Edgeworth and Dick Gumshoe wearily make their way through the bar door. _Speak of the devil, _he thought.

Upon hearing the chime, Donny had stopped staring at Hammond's awkwardness and spun around to face the new patrons. "Well, will you look at that! Mr. E, 'Tective G, over here!"

Hammond let out a short gasp; his face was now forced into an expression of outright panic. Jumping shakily to his feet, he turned to Jack and stammered, "P-put it on my tab."

In lieu of words, Jack pointed to Hammond's completely full glass of whiskey and shot him a suspicious glare.

Hammond rapidly shook his head. "It... it doesn't matter. Just do it!" Breathing heavily, he squared his shoulders and made his way to the door, detouring around the pool table so that he never came within ten feet of Gumshoe and Edgeworth.

Jack, Donny, and Payne stared at Hammond's strange exit, however; neither Edgeworth nor Gumshoe seemed to notice. After a quick glance at the other customers, Edgeworth settled next to Hammond's old spot whilst Gumshoe filled the space between Edgeworth and Payne.

Before Jack could think of just how to properly greet his newest customers under such circumstances, Edgeworth broke the silence with three sharply spoken words: "Whiskey. Now. Please." He pointed his left hand at the liquor shelves commandingly.

_Looks like callous men drink alike, _Jack thought grimly. Turning towards Gumshoe, he added a formal, "And you, detective?"

"Just a beer, pal," Gumshoe said with a sigh. "Even if I had money for something better, I wouldn't really feel like using it."

"As you wish." Jack grabbed a mug and fulfilled Gumshoe's request first; it both quicker to carry out and made by the person he wasn't currently upset with. Only after handing Gumshoe his mug with the briefest of smiles did he reopen Hammond's whiskey bottle and slowly fill a shot glass with the amber-brown liquid.

_Of course, _Jack thought, _I could just give him Hammond__'__s unused glass, but he asked for a single, not a double. Besides, I don__'__t want to confuse him... he needs to know what__'__s going on, first._

Shaking his head, Jack sat the shot glass in front of Edgeworth with a dull 'clunk'. "Your whiskey, Prosecutor," he stated flatly.

Edgeworth looked at Jack's blank expression and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Honestly, Mr. Keeper, must you be so immature?" he asked sharply. "This has been quite a tiring day for me, and I don't need you to start acting all upset as well."

"Exactly what do you mean by 'as well', Mr. E?" asked Donny, who was leaning heavily forward so that he too could hear the conversation.

"When we left Mr. Edgeworth's office, we ran right into Mr. von Karma, pal," Gumshoe said slowly. "Well, not literally 'into' him, but he was so close to the door that we could have had we been in a hurry!" After a weak chuckle, Gumshoe added, "He must have been standing there for a while, just waiting for us to show up."

_I guess Edgeworth__'__s defeat made von Karma change his evening plans, _Jack thought absently. "And why, Detective Gumshoe, does that have anything to do with my supposedly cold behavior?" Jack looked at Gumshoe with a neutral expression; he didn't want the man to realize that he already knew the answer.

Oblivious to the nasty stare Edgeworth was giving him, Gumshoe continued, "Well, he said some things about 'the von Karma name', and the 'way of a prosecutor', and 'imperfection' and stuff... And as he talked, he kept using more and more big words and getting louder and louder... before today, I didn't know a voice so low could make my ears ring so much, pals!"

"You sure aren't joking about that, detective!" chimed Payne. "I don't know how anyone can stand a man with a growl of a voice like that. I was observing one of his trials just last month, and I couldn't help but jump every time he countered the defense's argument." To further his point, he took in a great gasp of air and shouted,**"****Objection!****" **in a very crude imitation of von Karma's voice.

Jack winced and covered his ears. _Dear God, he sounds like that dog from the old mystery cartoons, _he thought. He then glanced at Edgeworth, who was currently shooting Payne a look of absolute loathing, and shook his head. _I__'__m getting off track here._

Leaning close to Edgeworth, he stated, "Your observation is correct, Prosecutor: I am upset with you. Of course, if you can remember a single damn thing about me and this case, you'll be well aware that the reasons for my disappointment are opposite those of Mr. von Karma."

Edgeworth shrugged. "Well, I would presume that to be obvious; you and he possess considerably different personalities." He paused, grabbed his shot, brought it to his lips, and downed it with a flip of the wrist. Waving his left arm around airily, he continued, "In that vein, however, I fail to see why you would be upset with me to begin with. After all, I dropped the murder charges against Maya Fey... was that not the result you'd been hoping for?"

Jack's eyes narrowed in anger upon hearing Edgeworth's sweeping statement. No longer willing to keep his voice level, he smacked his hand against the bar and sputtered, "Do you really take me for a fool, Mr. Edgeworth?! Maya Fey's arrest may not have made much sense, but _Mr. Wright__'__s_ arrest made even _less_ sense! You were prosecuting a different man for the same crime with no new evidence! It didn't even add up!"

For a brief moment, Edgeworth looked taken aback at Jack's sudden outrage. Schooling his features back into a relative calm, he stated, "I will admit, Mr. Keeper, that there was no new evidence to bring about that development in the case. At the time, however, the testimony of the new witness had been enough to bring about the new charges. You don't understand-"

"-You're damn right, I _don__'__t_ understand!" yelled Jack, resisting the urge to take a leaf from Mia's book and slap Edgeworth across the face. "I don't understand how a star prosecutor such as you could have done so much as _talk_ to Redd White for ten minutes without figuring out he was guilty! It was damn obvious!"

"Hey! Don't talk to Mr. Edgeworth like that!" bellowed Gumshoe, his face the epitome of irritation. "He's been cleaning up this city for four years now, and this is the first mistake he's ever made! And... And..." his eyebrows contorted as he struggled to find the right words, "And just what makes you think that Mr. White's guilt was so obvious, anyway?!"

Jack nearly smiled; Gumshoe had managed to ask him just the right question. Deciding it'd be best to let Edgeworth find the answer himself, he leaned against the bar and, in an even voice, said, "Answer me this, Mr. Edgeworth. Did you speak privately with Mr. White anytime before the trial this morning?"

Edgeworth looked insulted. "He was my _witness_, Mr. Keeper. Of course I spoke with him!"

Jack nodded sagely. "Good, that'll make the next question easier." After a brief pause, he continued, "While I understand that you try to keep pre-trial conversations professional, Mr. Edgeworth, was there any chance that Mr. White made small talk with you as well? Did he tell you what he did last night, for example?"

Edgeworth harrumphed. "I tried to keep things focused on his testimony, but Mr. White did have a habit of buffeting me with information that had nothing to do with the trial." Absently, he tapped a finger to his left temple. "In fact, he did seem to be in a fairly good mood regarding his previous night's activities... though he wouldn't say much more than the fact that he had a 'splendiferous time at a cozy little drink-warehouse', whatever that is. Sounds like he was at a beer distributor, but those aren't small or cozy, so I guess that was his way of saying that he was at a small bar, probably hidden away... somewhere..." He trailed off and his eyes grew wide as he realized the significance of what he was saying. "Wait a second," he stated weakly. "Did he come-"

"Here? Why yes, he most certainly did!" exclaimed Jack, nodding with sarcastic vigor. "Said he wanted to take a look at the place; spend some time with his lawyer friends. He and I had a _long _chat, we did!" He let out a manic laugh, and then his face became stonily serious. "And, lawyer though I may be not, it was pretty obvious that he was the one that did Ms. Fey in. Even from the very beginning, that man oozed guilt from every glittery pore."

Edgeworth appeared mildly troubled, but he quickly managed to pull himself together. "I hate to sound so dismissive, Mr. Keeper, but your accusations would have, before the trial, been considered nothing more than mindless hearsay."

Jack smirked. "You mean, just as Mr. White's version of the events had been proven to be mindless hearsay?"

Edgeworth winced and leaned backwards. "Unfortunately, yes. But his version of the events was, in the beginning, reasonably plausible."

Jack frowned and shook his head. "The only reason the legal system believed White's story was because none of the officials had the courage to pick it apart," he said tersely. "In fact, only two people grilled him hard enough to uncover some semblance of the truth."

Edgeworth shot Jack a look of confusion. "_Two_ people? You just told me that I came nowhere close to Wright in questioning White's true motives. Have you already changed your-"

"No, I haven't changed my mind!" Jack snapped angrily. He calmed himself a bit before adding, "As I was saying, there were only two people that managed to get White to cough up the truth about Ms. Fey's murder. Obviously, the first was Mr. Wright." He paused to take a steeling breath. "As for the second, that was... uh, me."

Jack was not surprised when Edgeworth's mouth dropped open in shock; after all, to an outsider such a revelation sounded rather surreal.

What he had not expected, however, was Gumshoe's reaction. "What do you mean, _you_?!" he barked, his eyebrows narrowed in surprised anger. "You aren't a detective! You aren't carrying a police badge, pal! Heck, you don't even have one of those silly circle badges, like that sneaky lawyer! How could you have possibly gotten that guy to say he was a... a... murderer! And... And... And if you did, how come you didn't try to speak up about it!"

Edgeworth appeared to be mildly impressed. "Loathe as I am to admit it, bearing witness to an admittance of guilt would have been a bit more credible than a circumstantial hunch, Mr. Keeper," he stated quietly. "If you were truly able to get such a thing, I'm rather astonished that you wouldn't have tried to spread the word. Why didn't you?"

"It's a long story," Donny interjected, the ghost of a smile on his face. Getting to his feet, he added, "Why don't you let me get a bit closer, Mr. E, so I can help Jack tell you a tale."

"I can hear you just fine from where you're at, Mr. Docket," Edgeworth said plainly. "Do you really need to come any closer?"

"Sure I do!" exclaimed Donny. Quickly, he walked the length of the bar, eyed the empty barstool on Edgeworth's right, and plopped down on it with a thump. "After all," he added grimly, "You need to hear anything I have to say a lot more than Mr. P does. Isn't that right, Mr. P?" The last sentence was given in a needlessly loud yell.

Characteristically, Payne looked startled at suddenly being singled out. "Uh, sure, t-that's right..." he stammered. "C-crazy stories tend to give me nothing but headaches anyway." He tapped his head once to emphasize his point. "Can I have some diet cola please, Jack? I'll probably need it to soothe my nerves..."

"Of course, Mr. Payne," Jack said pleasantly. As he rummaged through the refrigerator for the aforementioned drink, he added, "After all, nothing soothes the nerves like a healthy dose of caffeine." Sadly, no one else noticed the sarcasm.

"Get me another whiskey when you're finished, Jack," Edgeworth said abruptly. "I have the distinct feeling that I'm going to be in need of it soon..."

Jack nodded; for once that day, Edgeworth was on the right track. _I wonder how I should handle this? _he asked himself, paying little attention to the cola he was pouring._The fact that he started out believing White__'__s story wasn__'__t so bad, considering Parsons__'__ influence and all. The lengths he went through to try and save him in the end, however... _Handing Payne his drink with a smile, he turned to the back bar and grabbed both a clean shot glass and the oft-used whiskey bottle. _If I keep things simple and to the point, I should be able to shame him into a decent explanation... _Sighing heavily, he filled the glass with whiskey and sat it in front of Edgeworth with little fanfare.

Donny looked at Edgeworth with narrow eyes. "What do you think, Jack?" he asked warily. "You're the one that actually dealt with that killer... should I tell him part of the story, or just let you go off?"

"I don't know," Jack muttered softly. He looked upward in order to mull over the issue just a bit more...

...and promptly jerked his head back down as Donny let out a loud cry of astonishment. Pointing at Edgeworth's whiskey glass with an expression of disbelief, he exclaimed, "What the hell happened to _your _hand, Mr. Edgeworth?"

As he directed his gaze to the bar counter, Jack took a step backwards in surprise; wrapped around the center of Edgeworth's right hand was a bandage that was almost the same as his own. Quickly, Edgeworth let go of his drink and hid the hand behind the bar counter; Jack realized that, until that moment, he'd only been using his left hand to gesture and drink his whiskey.

"Well, Mr. Edgeworth? What happened?" asked Donny, his tone more forceful than before.

"I don't think that is any business of yours," muttered Edgeworth, frowning and turning his head in the opposite direction.

Before anyone could say anything else, Gumshoe let out a hearty burst of laughter. "Now, now... there's no need to act all embarrassed about _that_, Mr. Edgeworth, sir!" he said consolingly. Ignoring Edgeworth's death glare, he stated, "After that murderer guy turned himself in, Mr. Edgeworth and I took a break in the prosecutor's lobby."

"Sounds reasonable," Jack said quietly. "But what-"

"I'm getting there, pal! Don't interrupt me!" After an amused shake of the head, Gumshoe continued, "Anyway, Mr. Edgeworth asked me to get him some hot tea, in order to soothe his nerves. It cost me all my spare change, but I got him that tea, made hot and fresh from the courtroom vending machine! And then-"

"-Must you tell them about this?" snapped Edgeworth, clearly annoyed.

"Hey, if you didn't want me to blab about everything, you shouldn't have brought me here, Mr. Edgeworth sir! These people-" he indicated Jack and Donny with a wave of the hand, "-egg me on so much, I can't get away with shutting up!" He chuckled again. "So, I got Mr. Edgeworth his tea, and after he started to drink it, I tried to tell him the case didn't matter; tried to cheer him up! But as soon as I mentioned that sneaky Mr. Lawyer he crushed the paper cup with his bare hand! It would have been rather impressive, but the tea was bubbling hot!" Gumshoe chuckled grimily. "Luckily, I always keep some bandages and wraps on me in case I hurt myself somehow. So, in a matter of minutes, I fixed his hand up good as new!"

"Ok, let me get this straight..." Donny muttered. "You're saying that Mr. E only got hurt because he was pissed and took it out on his own teacup?" After Gumshoe nodded, he let out a shrill burst of laughter. "That's got to be the most pathetic thing I've heard all night! What do you think, Jack?"

Jack decided it'd be best not to laugh with his friend; Edgeworth's grinding teeth and shaking arms indicated that he was very close to throttling someone. "I wouldn't exactly call it stupid, Don," he said finally. "If anything, it's a rather marked example of poetic justice."

Edgeworth harrumphed. "Poetic justice... an attractive phrase, but not very meaningful," he said tersely. "Besides, I don't think that failing to argue a case to the standards of my _bartender_is a crime worthy of my receiving such bodily punishment."

Jack shrugged. "Perhaps not, Mr. Edgeworth. I, however, was actually making reference to this," Lazily, he held up his hand so that Edgeworth could see the bandage.

Edgeworth's eyes widened a bit, but he didn't seem too concerned. "I'll admit, that is a most unusual coincidence," he said airily. "But there's nothing poetic about it." When Jack said nothing, his demeanor faltered slightly. "Is there?"

Jack placed a finger to his temple and waggled it; he knew that copying one of Edgeworth's mannerisms would annoy him most greatly. "It just might," he said ambiguously. "During the times you've spoken with Mr. White... preparing testimony, before the trial... Did he ever stop to smoke a cigar?"

Edgeworth paused to think. "Yes, he did smoke one," he admitted. "But what does-"

"Could you describe it for me?"

"Describe it? But what- Oh, never mind." Edgeworth let out an irritated sigh; it was obvious that he was tired of being treated with so much disdain. "Mr. White smoked what he called a

Caribbean cigar, though I would've called it obscene. It was dark brown in color, about twelve inches in length and about-"

In a swift series of motions, Jack sat his hand on the counter, detached part of the tape surrounding his bandage, and lifted it up so that Edgeworth could clearly see the burn mark. "-This big around?" he finished grimly.

Edgeworth gave a start at the sight of the wound, his mouth opening and closing several times with nary a sound. "Yes, that wide," he said weakly. His eyebrows moved back and forth wildly as he put two and two together. "So Mr. White is the reason behind your injury?"

"Yes. And as his guilt was, indirectly, the cause of you burning _your _hand as well, I describe _that_ injury as an example of poetic justice." Jack titled his head coyly. "Any questions?"

Edgeworth looked at his whiskey glass and sighed. "Yes, I am most definitely going to need this," he muttered, before grabbing it with his unadorned hand and downing it in a single gulp. After making several undignified faces in reaction to the burn of the liquor, he managed to settle on his usual frown. "Okay, Jack, you win. You'd better tell me the rest, as it has become quite obvious that I won't get a moment's peace in this bar until you finally do."

Jack nodded in satisfaction. "Damn straight, Mr. Edgeworth. And, since I want you out of my bar sometime before two in the morning, I'll even be nice enough not to drag it out in my regular style." Upon saying this, he made a point of ignoring Donny's responding laugh**t**er.

"The only reason I was able to dig the truth out of Redd White was because I was... lucky enough for him to choose to come to my bar and not go somewhere else. Had he wasted the night at say, the District Hideaway in Center City, I wouldn't have had a clue that he was even involved. Of course, even had he not shown up, I still wouldn't have swallowed those media stories about Phoenix Wright being the real murderer."

Edgeworth nodded slowly. "Considering how you were acting during my last visit, I guess I can believe that," he said.

"You'd better believe it, Mr. E!" Donny added exuberantly. "Jack was acting crazy paranoid... I was afraid he was going to put on one of those tinfoil hats and start taping a bunch of metal hangers to the ceiling!"

Gumshoe let out a hearty laugh. "That's just silly, pal! Everyone knows you've got to stick the tinfoil to the ceiling and bend the hanger wire into a hat if you really want to be protected from anything!"

"Yeah!" exclaimed Donny, a mere second before he realized what Gumshoe had actually said. "Wait... huh?"

Edgeworth sighed. "You've been reading that stupid tabloid again, haven't you, Detective?"

Gumshoe let out an indignant huff. "So what if I have, Mr. Edgeworth? The _Revealer_'s a good source of useful information. Heck, if I hadn't read it, I wouldn't even know about that murderer Harry Butz! And another thing_-__"_

_I don__'__t need this, _Jack thought as he rubbed at his aching temples.

Thankfully, Edgeworth must have been having similar thoughts, as he quickly silenced Gumshoe by raising his palm. "Sorry about that, Mr. Keeper," he said bluntly. "Continue."

Jack nodded in gratification. "Anyway, Mr. White decided to come here because of some things he'd heard about me from Upton Washer, the defense attorney. He and Washer both showed up here last night, along with Public Prosecutor Parsons."

Edgeworth paled slightly upon hearing that fact. "Parsons was here as well?"

"Yep. Of course, with White around, he wasn't really up to his usual spit and polish... he was just as nervous as when he'd given you that phone call on Tuesday." Jack paused and made a thoughtful noise. "You know, if you had been as suspicious about White as you'd been about Parsons, things might have turned out a lot less messy." He shook his head. "But Mr. Parsons and Mr. Washer didn't matter; White had only come to talk to me and make me an offer. You see, the bastard wanted me to become one of his little _spies._" He let out a brash laugh.

Edgeworth raised an eyebrow. "Spies?"

Jack shrugged. "He didn't call it spying, but that was what he wanted me to do. I guess it made sense to him, considering all the lawyers and detectives I see, but... that sort of trechary isn't in me, so I turned him down." He frowned. "White didn't care for that."

"No, he wasn't a person that took denial very well," Edgeworth muttered. "I had quite a few arguments with him while we were discussing his testimony." He let out a sigh. "Keep going."

As he nodded, Jack wondered if this was what it felt like to be one of Edgeworth's witnesses, providing him a deposition. Putting such thoughts to the back of his mind, he continued, "In order to 'prove his trustility' to me and make me change my mind, he told me he was the secret witness in the Fey trial; the witness that the media had been parroting all day." He paused and scratched at the back of his head. "I was quite surprised by that fact, I'll admit. Then he told me _his_version of events, hoping that I'd accept them as truth and give into his demands."

"And that didn't work out either," Edgeworth added grimly.

"Nope. Mr. White must have been a bit off his rocker last night, because the tales he told me didn't quite coincide with all the official accounts. I called him on it; told him he must be the reason behind all the odd behavior and nonsense. When he asked me _why_ he would do something so crazy, it became obvious that he'd only do such a thing if he'd been Ms. Fey's real killer. I was too angry to hold my discovery back; I threw it right in his face."

"Damn, pal!" exclaimed Gumshoe, clearly awestruck. "You should know better than to do something like that without someone backing you up!"

Jack gave the detective a small smile. "In retrospect, I probably should have remained silent and waited for him to leave before calling someone for help. But... as I said, I was just too damn pissed. Ms. Fey was one of my closest friends, and have her murderer smiling his smarmy smile in my bar... it was too much."

"So why didn't you call for security?" asked Gumshoe, his tone suddenly serious. "That man might've been sneaky, but they could have gotten him in for more questioning..." His voice faltered. "Right?"

Jack shook his head. "He had planned for such an eventuality; he had some sort of phone jamming device hidden in his coat. That's when he pulled out one of those stupid big cigars, and told me just how hopeless my situation was."

"He was always b-big on f-flair," Payne stammered. When everyone realized he was still in the room and turned to face him, he jumped and added, "I've m-met him a couple times before... I somehow managed to prosecute one of his workers every now and then. M-makes me wish that I'd dealt with him before my d-downfall." He tapped at his head once in shame.

After giving Payne a wary nod, Jack said, "Basically, he threatened me, and he was obviously very experienced at doing it. Said he'd expose the bar to the public, get me and Donny fired, and—" he absently gazed at the ceiling, "—some other things."

Edgeworth appeared briefly thoughtful, and then nodded. "I believe I see what you're getting at," he said slowly. "But how does that lead to your injury?"

Jack frowned and shook his head. "While he was telling me about his evil plans for screwing the justice system and such, he showed me some, er, documents to cement his position. I tried to take them from him, and failed most painfully."

"Right bastardly thing he did," Donny agreed.

After a quick nod, Jack took a step forward, the better to look at Edgeworth face-to-face. "And that leads me to the heart of the matter, Mr. Edgeworth. When I realized that I couldn't do anything in that moment, I put my hopes on you seeing through him and putting a stop to him. In response, he laughed, called you a fool, and told me to watch the news channel today just to see how right he was." Jack paused to take a heavy breath. "Apparently, he had some 'friends' at the station... he's the reason that the last part of that farce everyone called a trial was broadcast live, you know."

"Broadcast live...?" Judging by how much paler Edgeworth's face had become in that moment, he had been unaware of the transmission.

Jack's eyebrows drew upward. "Didn't Mr. von Karma tell you, Mr. Edgeworth? The News Network got a live audio hookup to your courtroom. It transmitted everything from after Mr. Wright's collapse to the verdict."

"How did..."

"Jack already told you how; White did it!" Donny snapped impatiently. "He heard it, and probably a couple thousand other people heard it too!"

"And, of course, Mr. von Karma was in here as well," Jack added basely. "I don't think he would've stayed in the building today and given you that foolish lecture had he not heard your first 'not guilty' verdict while it was happening."

Edgeworth pointed a shaking finger towards the television as he struggled to come up with something to say. "Breaking the sanctity of the courtroom... the nerve of them..."

"Yeah, Mr. von Karma said pretty much the same thing," Jack supplied dully. "But that's not what has me upset, obviously. Care to guess why _I__'__m_ upset?"

Edgeworth looked at his empty glass and frowned. "Why should I, Mr. Keeper? You're going to tell me anyway."

Jack merely nodded and ignored Donny's laugh. "Very well, Mr. Edgeworth, I'll just tell you plain and simple. I know that you're a prosecutor, and it's your job to try and prove a defendant guilty. But, by the end of that trial, it was obvious to everyone in that courtroom that White was the one that did it. Even after you tried to-" he wrinkled his nose- "_defend _that man by claiming he'd tapped Ms. Fey's phone—a crime that I'm fairly sure April May already confessed to _right in front of you_, Mr. Wright managed to prove that he couldn't have. **But then,****"** Jack sputtered, his voice suddenly loud, "You tried to keep Mr. Wright in detention just by claiming that, in spite of all the **obvious **proof that Mr. White was guilty, stating that there was no **definitive proof **that Mr. Wright was _innocent?!_ What kind of messed-up procedure is that?! The only reason that Mr. White isn't sitting here and _laughing in my face _right now is because Mr. Wright rattled off that list of suicide victims and his assistant had the guts to blackmail the blackmailer! I know-" Jack started waving his arms around exasperatedly, "—I know that not every trial follows a simple path to a verdict, but that was just _insane!_So, Mr. Edgeworth, what I want to hear from you right now is the answer to this question: _Why the hell did you try so hard to keep an innocent man in prison, and let an obviously guilty man return to the streets?!__" _As he finally stopped to catch his breath, Jack noticed that all four of his customers were staring at him as though he'd lost his mind; however, he couldn't really find the energy to regret tearing into Edgeworth the way he just had.

After a few moments of rubbing at his temple, Edgeworth managed to look Jack in the face and flash a tiny smirk. "That was quite a display," he said levelly, "But I'm rather shocked that you would snarl that question at me as though you didn't already know the answer."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me...?" he asked wearily.

Edgeworth shrugged. "You have been running this place for over three years now, Mr. Keeper. And in that time, you have become quite aware of my policy when it comes to finding criminals guilty."

Jack blinked several times before he realized what Edgeworth was talking about. "You don't mean that fancy-pants mantra about guilt and innocence, do you?"

Edgeworth frowned. "Yes, that is indeed what I am referring to. Also, it is not 'fancy-pants', it is how I was taught."

"You mean what Mr. VK told you, right?" Donny scratched at his head; he was obviously having trouble keeping up with this latest turn of the conversation. Finally, he chimed, "You really should try to get out of his shadow sometime. He's a bit of a scary grouch."

Edgeworth started clenching his good fist. "It is not your place to insult him," he said tersely. "The methods he taught me have been undeniably successful."

Donny sighed and folded his hands together. "That's true," he muttered. "But, from what Jack's told me, it sounds as though you should have put that aside when you came across a defendant that was obviously innocent."

"Innocent...?" Edgeworth repeated the word skeptically. "How could I have known that?" He directed his gaze upward, as though he were remembering something. "The guilty will always lie, to avoid being found out. There's no way to tell who is guilty and who is innocent. Thus, all I, as a prosecutor, can hope to do is to get every defendant declared guilty." He shook his head and returned his gaze to Jack's face. "That's what I told Wright before the trial today, and that's what I repeat to you."

Jack frowned as he mulled over Edgeworth's latest pronouncement. _He__'__s mentioned that little mantra on many different occasions... probably at least once a month for the past three years. A shame that it took Mia__'__s death and the false accusations of both her sister and her student for me to see just how unfair that policy can be._

"Damn..." Donny spoke up before Jack could say a word. "That might make you a good prosecutor, Mr. E, but that still sounds awful cold..."

Edgeworth merely shrugged again. "Call me what you want... I can take it. What matters is that my methods get results." He turned his head the other way. "Don't you agree, Detective?"

Gumshoe, who had been watching the most recent arguments as if they were volleys in a tennis match, snapped out of his trance and vigorously nodded. "I sure do, Mr. Edgeworth! You can't trust those sneaky defendants one bit! The things I've heard some of the worst ones say... it's enough to make me sick, pals!" He leaned forward and fixed Donny with an angry glare. "It's not acting cold... It's using common sense!" Huffing, he starting turning his head back and forth, as if waiting for someone to disagree.

Luckily for Gumshoe, Jack had decided to do just that. "I don't think your policy is cold, Mr. Edgeworth," he said crisply. "I think it's stupid." Before Edgeworth could even try to retort, he continued, "With all the odd events that'd been going on, didn't you at least once consider the possibility that Mr. Wright could have been telling the truth about his innocence after all?"

Edgeworth clenched his good fist in anger, but managed to maintain his composure. "No, Mr. Keeper, I did not," he said bluntly. A second later, however, he added, "And even if I had, I would have immediately dismissed it without consideration. Such weak thoughts are completely unbecoming for a successful prosecutor to have."

Annoyed, Jack shook his head. "That's bullshit, and you know it."

"Don't you insult my philosophy, Mr. Keeper," spat Edgeworth, clearly incensed. Smacking his hand against the counter, he added, "These ideals are what have led me to all my successes so far."

"That may be true," Jack retorted bitterly, "But it's obviously not the _only_path to success. Look at Mr. Payne, here-" he indicated the man with a wave of the arm, "—he's had plenty of successful trials, but he still knows when it's best to back down. Isn't that right?"

Noticing all eyes upon him, Payne shakily adjusted his glasses. "I guess you could say that, Jack," he stated softly, "Though I used to be more successful in the days when I didn't..."

"Okay, bad example," Jack said hastily. "But what about some of the other prosecutors, like Mr. Oldbag, or Mr. Riverboat, or Ms. Streamer? They've all had as much press coverage as you do at one point or another, in spite of the fact that they've lost cases every now and then!"

Edgeworth shook his head. "Oldbag's lost his way, and Riverboat and Streamer don't even take murder cases unless they are related to their specialties," he said disdainfully. "It's not quite the same as what Mr. von Karma and I have to deal with."

"Yeah, that's right, Mr. Edgeworth, sir!" snapped Gumshoe, his face alight with adoration. "Besides, Edgeworth only follows that mantle-thingy because he trusts detectives like me to get the right man! Mr. Oldbag doesn't do that... he yells at me! Mr. Riverboat doesn't do that... he asks me stupid questions like I'm a child! And Ms. Streamer doesn't do that either... she just turns me away and uses a computer instead!" He paused to catch his breath. "Heck, if anything, Jack, you should be blaming _me _for this mess."

Jack frowned. "That's a good point, Detective, but it still doesn't quite excuse the fact that Mr. Edgeworth ignored the truth when it became obvious," he said derisively. "And there are prosecutors that have been both graceful and trusting, you know."

Gumshoe scoffed. "Oh yeah, pal? Name one!"

Jack quickly opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it when he realized he had no names to respond with. _I__'__ve already named pretty much all of the higher-up prosecutors... damn it, why don__'__t I have a larger clientele? _He started messing with a button on his shirt, racking his brain for an answer when...

"Neil Marshall." Everyone stared at Donny in surprise as he supplied an answer. "Before he died, he managed to win that crazy K-trophy, and I'm pretty damn sure he lost a few cases the year before." Absently, he stroked his chin. "Hell, if it weren't for that bastard Darke, he'd still be ahead of Mr. E, and probably giving Mr. VK a run for his money!" He spun in his chair in order to glare at Edgeworth and Gumshoe both. "How about that?"

Surprisingly enough, both Edgeworth and Gumshoe had fallen silent, though from the looks on their faces it didn't appear as though they were going to start groveling for forgiveness anytime soon. Weary from all the arguing and strangely satisfied by the heavy silence, Jack walked over to the sink and drew himself a glass of water.

"Um... can I have another drink, please, Jack?" Payne's reedy voice cut into the heavy silence.

"Sure," muttered Jack, managing to take a quick sip before putting his glass down. "What do you want?"

"Um... another diet cola would be fine, but... Could you put some extra cherry syrup in it, please? The sugar will keep me from falling asleep during the drive home." He managed a weak laugh.

"Understood." Without another word, Jack grabbed a glass out of a cupboard, a bottle of diet cola out of the fridge, a bottle of syrup of the shelves, and set himself to work.

_Now that I__'__ve yelled myself out, no one really feels like seriously speaking up, _he thought, pouring the cola into the glass._ If I__'__m lucky, Edgeworth will at least think of all the crap I spewed at him the next time he has a big trial. _Loosely biting his lower lip, he unsealed the new bottle of cherry syrup and poured some into the glass. _A lot of things have happened since the last time I made Payne one of these. I__'__ll be damn happy if I can make it to the end of the night without any more craziness happening._

Unfortunately, before he could even finish stirring Payne's drink, he was interrupted by the sound of the oft-present door chime. Cursing the Gods of Perfect Timing, Jack took a deep breath, turned around...

...And let out a relieved sigh as he watched Marvin Grossberg slowly meander towards his end of the bar. Compared to several of the other people that could have dropped in at this hour (Upton Washer and Manfred von Karma came to mind), the old defense attorney was mostly harmless.

Upon reaching the bar counter, Jack noticed that Grossberg was whistling a tune; obviously, he was in a very good mood. His happiness became even more self-evident when he managed to clamber onto the empty barstool next to Payne without uttering a single buttock-related complaint.

"Good evening, Mr. Barkeeper!" he greeted, his voice full of genuine enthusiasm. "How are you and your customers faring on this most wonderful of days?"

Jack frowned. "Er, well, we're, uh..." Unable to come up with a decent adjective, he merely waved an arm in the direction of his lackluster clientele.

Grossberg's eyebrows drew together as he took in the expressions of the other four men at the bar. "Well, this certainly won't do," he muttered, shaking his head. "Will someone explain to me why everyone appears to be so hopelessly down in the dumps?"

"They've been arguing," Payne stated, after just a few seconds of pause. "You should be glad you didn't show up any earlier." He rubbed at the side of his head. "Even by my standards, it was a rather ear-splitting event."

Grossberg made a contemplative noise. "That does sound rather serious, Mr. Payne," he said quietly. "Do I want to know what this so called argument was about?"

Payne glanced at Jack, who tiredly shook his head. "No, Mr. Grossberg, I don't think that would help any," he muttered.

Grossberg nodded in satisfaction. "Well, in that case, I'm not going to inquire about it any further." Turning to look at Jack, he added, "_I _am not the prying type, you see." Glancing down the length of the bar, he frowned again. "What I will not tolerate, however, is this purposeless moping! If you have finished with your various noisy arguments, I suggest that you all apologize or at least try to put it aside!"

The other customers stared at Grossberg as he finished his little statement. "Now see here," said Edgeworth, his voice impertinent, "It's not quite that simple..."

"-It is only as complicated as you make it, Mr. Edgeworth," Grossberg retorted smoothly. "You need not forget your disagreements; just try to act like reasonable human beings. This is one of the finest days I've had in fifteen years, you see, and I do not need it ruined by something so petty!"

Jack frowned as he glanced at Edgeworth (and, by association, Gumshoe)._Had I tried to re-explain the entire argument, Grossberg probably would have taken my side. Still, he has a bit of a point. Edgeworth__'__s been a decent customer these past few years, and I don__'__t really want to act all pissed towards him __**forever...**_

"Alright, pals," muttered Gumshoe, effectively cutting off Jack's thought process. "I still don't think you should talk to Mr. Edgeworth like that, but I'll let it go this time." He scratched at the back of his head. "I'm guess I'm sorry for raising my voice, too."

After giving Gumshoe a nod of approval, Jack decided to swallow his pride as well. "I think I overdid the righteous anger routine just a _little _bit, Mr. Edgeworth. I still can't say I like how things happened, but the right things worked out in the end. Truce?"

Edgeworth made a face as if he'd just wafted something extremely pungent. "I guess it's a truce," he finally said softly. "Though I do believe that you should try to stick to your own sphere of influence instead of overanalyzing the actions of others..."

"We'll see," Jack said levelly. "You never know what might happen next."

Edgeworth merely harrumphed and turned towards Donny, the only quarreler in the room that had yet to say anything. The others in the room quickly did the same.

Aware of all the attention placed on him, Donny mindlessly fiddled with his collar. "Oh, all right, I'm done yelling too!" he yelled, apparently unaware that he'd broken his rule in the process of stating it. "But, jeez, all this sudden sappy stuff is making my stomach churn! Are we done now?!"

"Yes, I believe you are 'done'," stated Grossberg, the smirk on his face reflecting his satisfaction. Slowly, he turned to Jack. "Now, then, Mr. Barkeeper, I believe I too should contribute towards a more sociable atmosphere. A round of premium beer for everyone, on me!"

"Here, here!" shouted Gumshoe, his enthusiasm unsurprisingly restored.

"None for me, though," chimed Payne.

"Ah, yes," Grossberg muttered softly. "I seem to remember a time, long ago, in which you partook in the over-consumption of alcohol... a sight as scary as it was strange." He shook his head. "Get to it, Barkeeper!"

"Yes, sir!" snapped Jack, firing off his best mock salute. In a matter of just two short minutes, he gathered four mugs, filled each with beer from the premium tap, and set them before every customer save Payne with relaxed decorum.

"Now then, if you are all settled, I would like to start things off with a toast." Glancing at the others in the room, he added, "You don't mind letting an old toastmaster make use of his well-honed skill, now do you?"

"Uh, no... Of course not," said Jack, turning around so that Grossberg wouldn't see his amused smile. Quickly, he picked up his glass of water and turned back towards the bar counter. "I'm ready when you are."

"Thank you," Grossberg said gratefully. "Now then..." He raised his glass, and sat as straightly as he could.

**"****Ah-HHHHEM!****"**After making a production of clearing his throat, a thoughtful expression came across Grossberg's face.

"I would like to raise a toast to the defense attorney, Mr. Wright, for his amazing courtroom victory today. Unlike... many lawyers I've come across in my many years of practicing law, he had the courage to both stand up against corruption and risk his own freedom so that Mr. Redd White finally received the prison term that he most definitely deserved. To Wright!"

**"****To Wright!****" **echoed the others, though Edgeworth's rendition sounded extremely unenthusiastic.

_That wasn__'__t too bad, _thought Jack, drinking his water along with everyone else. _Considering all that White had done, Mr. Wright definitely deserves the honor._

A wry smile appeared on Donny's face. "That was pretty good, Big G."

"Why thank you, Mr. Guard, I-"

"-But not good enough," he finished bluntly. Noticing everyone's incredulous stares, he added, "I mean, it didn't fall flat or anything... it's just that you managed to miss a good bit of the point."

Grossberg frowned. "So you are stating that you can do better, Mr. Guard?"

Donny raised his beer mug and grinned. "I think I just might."

Jack suddenly felt very, very wary, but he could do nothing but raise his glass and hope that his friend didn't screw things up too badly.

"I would like to propose a toast... to Ms. Mia Fey." recited Donny, his voice uncharacteristically solemn. "She was a good person, a good lawyer, and a hell of a good friend to boot." Pausing, he looked toward the ceiling and let out a sigh. "And... although she won't be able to physically come to this bar anymore, I'm sure that a part of her will always be here with us, watching..." Unconsciously, he swiped a tear from his face.

Jack too rubbed at his face; he wasn't surprised to find that his eyes were tearing up as well. _My God, _he thought, _that was __brilliant! I wonder if they have an award for these kinds of things..._

Donny wasn't quite finished yet, however; as he raised his mug higher, he dropped his solemn expression in favor of a mischievous grin. "And that part of her had better be watching us pretty damn closely," he quipped, "Because we're always going to be down here... **drinking!****"** With that, he nodded to the ceiling, chugged the rest of his beer, and slammed the empty mug against the counter with a satisfied grin.

After a moment of heavy silence, Donny spun in his chair so that he could see everyone else's face. "So..." he muttered warily, "How'd I do?"

Seeing that no one else was going to answer, Jack laughed and shot his friend an approving smile. "Let me put it this way, Don. As far as great toastmasters go, you're most definitely one of a kind."

* * *

**A/N: **So... After 80,000 words, 10 chapters, and about eight months of writing time (which ended five months ago, btw), I finally finish a parallel to what qualifies as the least complex multi-game case (from an in-game perspective) of the entire AA series. I need a drink. 

While this chapter was long, it's obviously full of recap; I just can't seem to write this damn story without outlining every logical detail. My writing is best described as meticulous, I guess. Now then, I'm sure there's a couple odd plot points in this chapter, so let me speak of them just a bit:

**Hammond's got Confrontation Issues: **Because I created this artificial location that has both Robert Hammond and Miles Edgeworth in it at various random times, I also have to create a reason for the two not to interact with one another, or else I've destroyed one of the main plot points of GS1-4. Thus, the most logical means is for Hammond to want to avoid Edgeworth at all costs due to the events of DL-6; after all, Edgeworth represents a most ironic consequence of his relentless desire to win. Normally, Hammond wouldn't even be in the bar when Edgeworth has a chance of showing up (I can picture him making sure the bright red sports car isn't in the garage), but the end of 1-2 is a big enough source of stress for him to temporarily forget that. As time goes on, I'm sure there'll be a bunch of other weird things I have to do (especially in 1-5) to keep disbelief suspended.

**Edgeworth's Burn: **This is technically never mentioned in canon, as I transposed an event that occurred halfway through 1-3 to the end of 1-2 and then changed it somewhat (That's what I get for not playing the game in a while). I didn't get rid of it in this update because I liked the parallel burn plot point too much.

**Why is DSL inventing prosecutors out of nowhere? **As I was writing these earlier chapters, I was gradually forming ideas for a bunch of original prosecutors in my head, as it's quite obvious that, if the prosecutors' Office is in a big city, there has to be more than 2-4 people working cases there at any given time. Since I didn't want to flood my already OC-heavy fic with dozens of random prosecutors, I only created three to use in parts of this story: Harry Oldbag (I made a canon character relative; please kill me), Chance Riverboat, and Terra Streamer. The first is a major character that fills a canon role and first appears at the start of Case 3; the latter two are minor characters, acting largely as sources of information, and they make their first appearances in late Case 3 and late Case 4 respectively. The reason these prosecutors would never appear in canon is because the vast majority of the cases they take aren't homicides. I do feel bad creating so many original characters for this story, but the good news is that after these three are introduced I see no reason to add any more recurring in-bar OCs for the rest of the PW trilogy (as if I'll ever make it past the first game...).

It'll probably be a bit before I put up Chapter 15, the middle installment of Episode 'x', as I have to write a flashback-inducing introduction in order to justify the moved material. This, however, will give me a decent opportunity to add one more canon character to the mix. Until then, readers...

-DSL


End file.
